


Double Date or Couples Therapy?

by Jess_S



Series: Felicitas [9]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Highlander - All Media Types, Mr. and Mrs. Smith (2005)
Genre: Crossover, Double-Date & Movie, F/M, Felicitas-verse - Freeform, Short Story, Tag: Three Door’s Down: Kryptonite, Unresolved Secrets Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-11-08 14:22:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 58,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11083407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_S/pseuds/Jess_S
Summary: Because watching a movie with friends isn’t meant to come with baggage, but then again that might depend on the movie and the friends… or Felicity thought inviting Tommy & Laurel over for a movie with popcorn and wine was a good idea, why? And why would Laurel’s first choice be Mr. & Mrs. Smith? (6-Part Short Story in Felicitas Series)





	1. The Rough Start

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Okay, so following the theme of Oliver & Felicity watching a movie each week, this very long interlude follows the story Bloody Secrets. It might not make much sense if you haven’t read at least most of the lengthy Felicitas-verse that comes before it. Also, though I will follow some part of Mr. & Mrs. Smith word-for-word because the dialogue works so beautifully, you probably want to have seen the movie before reading this—both so that the fic makes sense most of the way though and so as not to spoil what really is a great movie. Granted, it’s entirely tongue-and-cheek, but it’s still a lot of fun to watch. And since I can still say that after watching it more than 2-dozen times already, I don’t think it’ll ever get old. Even if this monster that’s already too long to really be called an interlude keeps going…  
> Also, I’ve started playing around with pictures more because this movie already had some great ones setup for following along with it. I’ve decided to include them, but if you haven’t seen the movie I really recommend watching it whether this fic makes sense without it or not.  
> Enjoy! :-)

_**Please note that I have added several images to this story--because a picture's worth a thousand words and this story's already long enough as it is. But apparently not every web browser can see them. If you browser won't access them, it's possible you have to give it permission to, but if not I apologize for the multiple repetitions of the same boring symbol you're stuck with. I do know that Google Chrome can access the images--possibly because I used Google to upload them. Internet Explorer and Firefox both don't work for seeing the images.**_ _**I haven't checked any other browsers. The images are not necessary to follow the story as the parts/dialogue that Oliver et al actually think about are all written in smaller font & italics. The images are really just a bonus. ** _ _**If anyone has any idea how I might be able to fix this so that everyone can see them, I'd love to know.** _ _**Again, sorry for the inconvenience, and I hope you can enjoy the story anyway...** _

_**A/N2: Actually, going in to edit this note seems to have gotten rid of AO3's ability to access the images entirely, so I'll have to play around with it more now. I admit, it's getting kind of irritating, but I'll persist**_ _**... >_<** _

* * *

 

**Double Date or Couples Therapy? ** **by Jess S**

 

**_Part 1: The Rough Start_**.

_ Oliver Queen’s P.O.V. _

 

_Pop!_

 

“It’s perfect, really,” Laurel insisted, clearly not willing to let her choice drop.

 

That it was the same choice Tommy had forewarned him about; and that Oliver had known the words of warning were probably right as soon as his friend had said them wasn’t really all that important. Neither one of them was stupid enough to say anything along those lines though, and Felicity seemed to be happy just watching and listening to the three of them whenever she wasn’t playing her part of hostess to a tee.

 

_Pop! Pop!_

 

“And you haven’t watched it since—well, since you got back, right?” the lawyer directed at Oliver. Not seeming to notice—or just stubbornly pretending to not notice—that her ex-boyfriend and her current boyfriend were both wincing: because the past history there tied so closely to the failed former relationship.

 

“No,” Oliver admitted, and if it felt like the word was a tooth being yanked out then it probably sounded like that, too.

 

There were a lot of things about his past that Oliver Queen was not proud of and never would be. He’d hated himself a lot of the time even when he _was_ Ollie Queen: that was why the drinks and even some drugs had always seemed like such great ideas back then. Every time he couldn’t face a problem and would prefer to party—and sadly, that really was almost all the time for a while there.

 

Back then—Back before _The Gambit_ went down, and everything that followed _that_ — _Mister and Missus Smith_ was the only Angelina Jolie movie that he hadn’t seen. At first it was because his and Laurel’s plans to go see the movie in theaters had fallen through with one of their more awful breakups. A breakup that, like most of them, was entirely his fault because he _had_ slept with another girl whose name he hadn't even remembered the next day. A picture of him leaving a party with her, however, had hit the tabloids that same day, only hours before the movie hit theaters that night. So Laurel had broken up with him again, and he hadn't wanted to go to the movie—by himself or with Tommy.

 

Laurel, however, _had_ gone to see it with Sara. Then, after they’d gotten back together again, she’d tried—again and again and again—to make him go see it, too. She’d said it’d be good for them as a couple, but he'd found a way out of it the whole time it was in theaters. Not wanting to face their problems as a couple, and somehow he’d also let the movie become a symbol of those same problems in his own head. Not that he’d ever told Laurel that, but Tommy, of course, knew. He’d been relieved when it was finally left theaters, and by the time it was released again on D.V.D, he'd been more than a little surprised that Laurel _still_ wanted him to watch it with her.

 

_Pop-Pop! Pop-Pop!_

 

Maybe it was kind of a symbol for her, too. She even went so far as to buy it and leave it by her T.V permanently after the fact, but every time she'd tried to push it, Ollie hadn't wanted to give in… because it’d felt like agreeing to watch the movie was also making a promise he couldn't keep.

 

Oliver had noticed that the movie hadn't made it from the T.V she'd had in her room at her parents' house to her apartment five years later, but he hadn't ever given any serious thought to trying to watch it with or without the woman he'd failed so many times after the fact.

 

"And I know Tommy's never seen it either," Laurel went on, like a dog with a bone. "You never wanted to watch it without Oliver, right?" she asked her current boyfriend pointedly.

 

"...Uh, right," Tommy had to agree, his face contorting a little as he tried to wipe that wince away but it wouldn't budge.

 

_Pop-Pop-Pop-Pop!_

 

“That’s the one that Brad and Angelina met on, right?” Felicity asked from in the kitchen, where she was catching popcorn in a big bowl while her popcorn maker kept popping away. Her eyes kept traveling between the three of them with the same searching look she hadn’t even been trying to hide for awhile this evening. Clearly she hadn’t missed the fact that there was something more to this movie choice than any of them were saying, but she still wasn’t going to ask what it was outright.

 

_Pop-Pop!_

 

“And they’re still going strong,” Laurel nodded enthusiastically. “They’re planning their wedding and have a whole bunch of kids and everything. So maybe it's good for other couples, too.” She went on again without waiting for anyone else's input on that. “It's a romantic comedy with a lot of action, something for everyone. It's perfect.”

 

Oliver was a little surprised to realize that, as much as the past pains—and shame—this brought up did still bother him, he couldn’t say that the idea of watching the movie itself bothered him anymore. Once it, like the idea of actually living with Laurel, had seemed like the end of the world via a leap forward in their relationship and lives he wasn’t ready or willing to take. But now, half a decade later, it was just a tired old argument being resurrected again.

 

He didn’t want it to be a problem for Tommy and Laurel though. Not like it'd been for Ollie and Laurel, and it was starting to look like it could become just that. It hadn't ever been the biggest problem between him and Laurel, of course, or even the only one. But if watching it with them now would help his best friend and the woman he'd once loved, he could endure whether the movie was any good or not.

 

Given all that, he wasn't sure what it said that he couldn't honestly remember what it was supposed to be about, other than some sort of action-packed romantic comedy, like Laurel had literally just said. From the cover image he'd guess they were supposed to be spies or assassins of some sort, and the movie might be about their relationship and their jobs. But more than that, he couldn't guess at.

 

_Pop! Pop! Pop!_

 

“There, all done,” Felicity said, sounding like it was more than half to herself even as she unplugged the popcorn popper and then grabbed the bowl off the counter as she walked around it and back towards her living room, where the rest of them were all waiting for her so the movie night could start. Though before they could actually press play they had to all agree on a movie, and since Laurel wasn’t going to let this one go it all but had to be this one.

 

Honestly Oliver would prefer to let Felicity pick the movie again, because her choice last time had turned out so well—weird though it'd seemed at the start and a lot of the way through. But she was clearly determined to play perfect hostess tonight, wanting this to help him with Tommy and, by extension, Tommy with Laurel, so he highly doubted she'd object. Still, he made a point of catching her eye. "Felicity?" he asked, and in his peripheral vision he saw Laurel shift a little, but his eyes stayed on the blonde that was coming over to sit next to him on the couch after she placed the big bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.

 

"I've seen it," the genius admitted, nibbling a little on her lip for a moment, before going on. "It's a good movie. I wouldn't mind re-watching it, especially if you guys haven't seen it."

 

That was all the okay the lawyer needed. "Great," Laurel nodded as she hit play. "Here we go then."

 

Oliver honestly didn't care one way or the other. If it was an action movie it wasn't really likely to amaze him like it used to—he'd be impressed if they managed to make half their stunts look even remotely real, because from the few action flicks he'd seen since _The Gambit_ , the 'action' had looked pretty fake. But if it was a romantic comedy, too, like Laurel said it might keep them all entertained. So as the movie started playing he tried to relax into the couch—even though it was not the same couch—and automatically wrapped his arm around his new girlfriend when she leaned back into him.

 

_"Okay, I'll go first," Brad Pitt—or probably the title 'Mister Smith'—was saying as the scene was opening with him seated in a separate chair from Angelina Jolie—who was probably playing his wife. "Let me say, we don't really need to be here. See, we've been married for five years."_

_"Six," Angelina—or 'Missus Smith'—corrected, her tense smile staying in place as she did so._

_Mister Smith paused, but then nodded. "Five, six years," he agreed in that way that clearly said he didn't agree but was agreeing anyway. "And this is like a check-up for us. Chance to poke around the engine, maybe change the oil. Replace a seal or two."_

_"Yeah," Missus Smith agreed, nodding quietly. “That’s it.”_

_Both of them still looked tense as another man answered evenly, "Very well, then. Let's pop the hood."_

 

Felicity and Tommy both snorted at that last line, and Oliver thought it might be because the name the tabloids had given him as the vigilante had somehow made it in there, rather than amusement at the analogy itself. But he was distracted by the scene itself, having a hard time not frowning at his former girlfriend in genuine confusion.

 

Action, romance and comedy all sounded great, but was a movie that started off with a couple in shrink's office really a great idea considering how tense things were with Tommy and Laurel?

 

He understood wanting to shutdown whatever was left lingering from their pasts, at least as much as anyone could, but how could this help his friends going forward? Then again, his relationship with Laurel had failed spectacularly several times, and he was usually the one to blame, so what did he know?

 

_"On a scale of one to ten," the off-screen man that was obviously a couple's therapist or something like that, went on. "How happy are you as a couple?"_

_"Eight," Missus Smith answered right away, but her husband hesitated._

_"Wait." Mister Smith clarified while his wife looked exasperated. "Ten being perfectly happy, and one being totally miserable, or..."_

 

Felicity leaned forward to pick up the bowl, taking a few popcorn pieces before she deliberately past the bowl to Tommy where he was sitting on Oliver's other side—reaching across his lap to do so and holding it there until Tommy took it from her.

 

When Oliver blinked at her, she held one of the pieces up with a mischievous smile. It took him a second to realize what she wanted, but he was smiling back at her even before he'd opened his mouth so she could toss a piece in. He was grinning back at her even as his mouth closed around the warm, buttery snack.

 

_"Just respond instinctively."_

_"Okay," Mister Smith nodded, then asked his wife. "Ready?"_

_"Yup," she replied, then they answered together._

_"Eight."_

 

Oliver was still smiling as he caught a second piece of popcorn, too, only listening to the movie as he took aim with one of the pieces she’d just handed to him. He was glad he'd already thrown it before he heard the therapist's next question though, because it might’ve made him miss.

_"How often do you have sex?" the off-screen man asked like it was the most reasonable thing to ask in the world._

For a moment he worried that Felicity might choke on the popcorn he'd thrown for her, but she didn't even stop chewing, a second later she swallowed. And instead of looking embarrassed by the dialog like he would've expected, her eyes only left his to study the way Laurel was ignoring Tommy's attempts to offer her popcorn.

 

Oliver winced again at the sight, hoping his best friend hadn’t been holding the bowl out to the evidently still angry brunette for long.

 

 

_"I don't understand the question," Missus Smith said, looking a little wide-eyed._

_"Yeah, I'm lost," Mister Smith responded, like he thought the straightforward query might actually be a trick question. "Is this a one to ten thing?"_

_His wife nodded, "Because, is-is like, one very little, or is one nothing?" she spread her hands. "Because, you know, technically speaking, 'zero' would be nothing."_

 

Laurel's eyes were locked on the screen from the seat she'd chosen—the armchair that’d apparently come with the new couch Felicity had had delivered sometime earlier today. The lawyer was the only one off by herself, even though Tommy had taken the seat on the couch that was closest to her. She must've seen her boyfriend offering the bowl, but it wasn't till Tommy actually said her name that she turned to take a few pieces for herself. Then her eyes went right back to the movie without a word.

 

Tommy set the bowl back on the coffee table without taking any for himself; and Oliver just barely managed to suppress a wince at seeing so clearly how tense things clearly were between his friends.

 

_"How about this week?" the therapist didn't drop the query, still sounding like he was fishing for the most reasonable answers in the world even while the couple he was interrogating looked about as uncomfortable as they could be without those tight smiles falling away entirely._

_"Including the weekend?" Mister Smith asked, wincing even before the question was all the way out._

_"Sure."_

_Still, the couple didn't respond, which was an answer in and of itself—either they hadn't had sex in the last week, or they'd had it only once and didn't think that was the right answer to the question that was being asked. Or possibly neither one of them remembered the answer, which was kind of an answer in itself…_

The silence in the movie dragged out into Felicity's living room, and even as the blonde cuddled back into his side after they finished their popcorn tosses for the time being, Oliver could tell her attention wasn't really divided: it was mostly on the other couple entirely.

 

As the farthest one from Laurel she had the easiest time watching the other pair without being obvious by turning her head all the way towards them, and he actually understood the meaning of the expression 'heartwarming' as he realized she really cared about his friends that much. Not because they were her friends yet, but because they were his...

 

_"Describe how you first met," the therapist asked on the next cut-in, and the couple was clearly happier with the new topic, probably equally much because it'd changed from the last question and the answer was familiar territory for any couple after a while._

_"It was in Columbia," Missus Smith smiled._

_"Bogotá," her husband agreed. "Five years ago."_

_Missus Smith corrected automatically, "Six."_

_"...Right. Five or six years ago."_

Felicity giggled, clearly amused by the ongoing passive-aggressive argument. Even before the scene changed to a helicopter flying over what looked like a warzone in the middle of a jungle. She laughed outright when words 'BOGOTÁ, COLUMBIA,' were followed a moment later by 'FIVE OR SIX YEARS AGO.'

 

And everyone had to laugh with her. At least a little. Even Laurel was drawn a little out of her unhappiness by the other woman's determined cheer.

 

Oliver found himself smiling again as he turned his head to press a kiss into her golden hair, then he tilted his head so she could tuck her head under his chin as they watched how the movie's main characters meet for the first time: both of them apparently in Bogotá on a hit. One that'd apparently already been carried out by the time the two met—leading to them pretending they were together in order to escape the police that were looking for tourists traveling alone, and falling in love along the way. As the movie was called 'Mister and Missus Smith,' it was almost amusing right from the start that the couple would start with and keep such obvious covers. Or maybe they really were named John Smith and Jane soon-to-be-Smith, even though both first names were almost as common as the last.

_"Stop, stop. You've only known the girl for six weeks," another man was shaking his head as he watched 'John Smith' training with another man—in an exercise that mostly looked like just letting the other man beat on him because he wasn't really trying to fight back at all._

_"I'm in love," John Smith insisted. (And since they didn't know him by any other name, it didn't really matter if that wasn't his real one.) "She's smart, sexy. She's uninhibited, spontaneous, complicated." He finally threw a bunch back, but then basically went back to being beaten on: clearly more concerned with the conversation than his training. "She's the sweetest thing I've ever seen."_

_His friend shook his head. "I knew Gladys for two and a half years before I asked her to marry me. You have to have a foundation of friendship, brother.  The other stuff fades." So saying, he smiled at the two women that were watching them nearby. "Hi."_

Laurel’s snort this time was one of disgust, not at all amused. She obviously didn’t like the fact that the friend who was giving relationship advice was even looking at the other women if he was married. Not particularly fair on her part. It wasn’t like he’d asked either woman out.

 

But Oliver knew better than to say anything to the ex-girlfriend he’d cheated on many more times than he could actually count years later… or even at the time. He also kind of thought this ‘Gladys’ might not be in the picture anymore or soon wouldn’t be, but even he couldn’t say where that impression might’ve come from as he kept watching the movie right now.

 

He could see Tommy make the same decision as they exchanged a glance, but he almost wished Felicity wasn't still tucked into his side and under his chin right now. Because as comfortable as they were together after watching a number of movies this way, he couldn't see how she reacted at all. She seemed to just be watching, but he couldn't really tell.

 

_The scene changed to a high cliff face that didn't look like anything near New York, but wasn't introduced as a scene change worth noting either._

_"So," a woman that was obviously the lead female's friend was calling to her. "You don't think this is all happening a little fast?"_

_"You know I never do anything without thinking it through," Jane called back._

_Her friend waited a moment, then asked her, "What does he do?"_

_"He's in construction. Big-time contractor."_

 

All of the audience were more amused again as the scene switched back to what was obviously John Smith answering the same question—while being beaten into the ground by his opponent in what really might be an exercise in just how take a beating. Whether it was necessarily effective real-world training was debatable, considering both men were wearing boxing gloves and those weren’t something most people would just be carrying around with them all the time in case they had to throw a punch…

_"A server goes down on Wall Street, she's there. Anytime, day or night. She's like the superhero for computers."_

“No,” Oliver leaned down to murmur the words into Felicity’s ear. “That’d be you.” He could hear her smile again as she laughed lightly, but was distracted by his friends again for a moment, because they’d obviously heard him, too.

 

Tommy shot him a smile that looked—mostly—happy for him. For them. Despite his own worries regarding his own girlfriend.

 

Laurel’s small smile mostly looked sad, even as she turned back to the movie as soon as she’d noticed his gaze going to her.

 

_"He's gone as much as I am," Jane was telling her friend on the cliffs. "So it's perfect."_

_Back at the gym, John's friend was still sounding like he had a half empty glass somewhere. "I give the whole thing six months. Tops."_

_"Eddie," John was still being beaten up as he told his friend, "I asked her to marry me."_

_The friend—Eddie, apparently—clearly heard him, as he blinked at the words, but visibly decided he'd heard him wrong. "What?"_

_"I'm getting married!" John said it louder, but the words were muffled by the fact that he was using the boxing gloves on his fists to shield his face while the glove covered fists of his opponent reigned blows down on him._

_"What?" Eddie shook his head. "I can't hear you."_

_"Getting married," was said again._

_Again, Eddie shook his head. "I can't hear," he looked at the man that apparently had no lines for the scene—he was just muscle there to beat the lead actor up. "Can you stop hitting him? I think he said something crazy."_

_"I'm getting married!" John shouted again, without the blows ever stopping, or ever hitting his face..._

 

And Oliver found himself blinking again when it became clear just how quickly the couple apparently got together. The attraction and chemistry drawing them together was obvious, but all the secrets that were obviously going to explode at some point were apparently being skimmed over just like the question of what the two New Yorkers were doing down in Columbia in the first place when it was being torn apart by a war and assassinations. Undoubtedly they were _both_ there to kill someone, maybe on separate assignments or maybe not. All of that, though, was skipped over just like most of their actual dating was.

 

That the next scene went back to 'five or six years later,' where the title couple was clearly talking about their earlier visit to the therapist as they got ready for work, didn't lessen his surprise.

 

"You know," Tommy spoke up. "I _know_ they're supposed to be married, the movie's called 'Mister and Missus Smith,' after all. But I don't get why their back-story would have to have them getting married after only knowing each other for six weeks."

 

“Well, if they dated longer than that, they’d have to start sharing some secrets, wouldn’t they?” Laurel interjected, a little snidely.

 

Oliver winced for and along with his friend, but Felicity spoke up before either of them could.

 

"Whirlwind romances aren't really unheard of," she pointed out calmly. "And it wasn't that long ago that couples couldn't live together without being married."

 

"Not that long ago?" Tommy blinked at her. "I'm pretty sure those are the standards our grandparents lived by, not anyone now."

Oliver winced, because all that brought to mind, again, was what’d happened to the grandfather that Felicity had never met, but to his surprise she didn't react to it at all.

 

"Here in most of America, yeah," Laurel came to the other woman's defense—it was obvious just in how reasonable she sounded, and that she was arguing now without frowning or scowling: sounding interested, not annoyed or just generally unhappy. "But there are some places that still frown on it. Even here in Starling some people wouldn't allow it. Wouldn't even consider it."

 

That, obviously, traced back to some case of hers that happened before Oliver's return from the dead. She was talking in generalizations that she cared about, and Laurel got invested in people, not ideas.

 

"You're both right though," Felicity added as the now married couple on the screen agreed that they didn't need to see the therapist again, even though they clearly did. "I think it's more a plot device here, but unless the writers wanted all the secrets to come out while they were dating or getting married, they'd have to do something like this."

 

"And then the movie wouldn't be 'Mister and Missus Smith,' unless it somehow tied all into their wedding..." Oliver agreed, trying to not think too much about the idea of the reasons for a quick wedding having anything to do with couples doing things that they shouldn't before marriage. But Thea's question about if Felicity believed in no sex before marriage kept echoing out of his memories like the brat was here to bring it up herself…

 

Not that Oliver could ask his girlfriend _that_. As comfortable as they were together—almost oddly comfortable, in fact, but—they'd only been on three dates, total. Really only one real one. Because one of the other two was like this one: a double date, only that time they were supposedly going just as friends... If he asked her something like that so early on, she'd feel pressured and he didn't want that at all.

 

And, well, if she _did_ actually believe that, he'd deserved it, wouldn't he? The former playboy wasn't sure if he should feel proud of himself or not for not being scared off by the thought alone as he turned his attention back to the movie in time to watch the clearly still competitive couple both leave for work, with John needing to let Jane go first once they both made it to the part of their driveway that narrowed so they couldn’t race anymore.

 

He saw Felicity shake her head a little at that, and the small but amused smile on her face as she reached for more popcorn was honestly more interesting than the next scene. Mainly because neither of the Smiths were in it, so it was undoubtedly somewhat relevant for that reason. But the nameless kid was so smugly full of himself you really couldn’t help but be happy when he wasn’t allowed inside an apparently important elevator.

 

_Then they were back at the Smith’s house…_

_When her husband returned on time for dinner at seven, as promised, Jane greeted him and asked about work before telling him she'd bought new curtains. "Well? What do you think?" she asked when they were both in the living room, dinner not done yet._

_Her husband barely glanced at the curtains as she started talking again._

_"There was a struggle over the material. This tea-sandwich of a man, he got them first. But I won."_

_"Of course you did," John nodded, sounding completely unsurprised. Clearly there competitiveness had remained an ongoing factor of their marriage—even if their secrets had somehow never come out over the course of more than half a decade together._

_"They're a bit green, so we have to reupholster the sofas and get a new rug," Jane said decisively. "Maybe a Persian?"_

_"Yeah, or we can just keep the old ones, then we don't have to change a thing," her husband answered, and she blinked at him._

_"We talked about this. You remember?"_

_"I remember," John nodded as he chewed on one of the olives he’d just served himself with his drink. "I remember 'cause we said we'd wait."_

_Jane sighed unhappily at that. "If you don't like 'em, we can take 'em back."_

_"Okay," John looked at her. "I don't like 'em."_

_His wife's eyes narrowed. "You'll get used to them."_

_"Yeah," John nodded, clearly used to this sort of argument resolution._

 

Oliver didn't look at Laurel and Tommy again then, though he couldn't help but wonder if his ex-girlfriend really thought this movie made marriage look like something worth looking forward to. Not really talking, always loosing arguments, _and_ no sex?

 

But it was all too passive-aggressive for what this movie was ultimately supposed to be: so hopefully the secrets would start to come out soon so that the action, and all the other good stuff, could get started...

 

_Watching John struggle to put the lawnmower away in the rain, only to stop and toss a basketball back at the neighbor’s hoop across the street and make the one-handed shot far off shot from afar without even looking was clearly meant to promise that. Just as Jane fixing her new curtains by balancing precariously atop a chair on only one leg, wearing high heels herself, was._

 

 

Oliver found he had to agree with Pitt’s character: those curtains _were_ pretty ugly. Not that he often thought about those kinds of things at all, of course, because interior decorators usually made sure his family was surrounded by only the finest things in life. But, then again, he might be biased because the curtains were as new as the couch he was sitting on now. And while he wasn’t sure what to think about the fact that Felicity had found a new couch that was the same shade of green as his hood—and that’d made Tommy blink a few times, too—he just couldn’t find the thing half as comfortable as he remembered the old one being…

 

Just then Felicity shifted out of his arms again to snag the bowl of popcorn, offering it to him.

 

Oliver had to return her smile as he took a few, feeding one to her and accepting one himself before she tucked herself back into his side and he wrapped his around her. The bowl of popcorn stayed in his lap, where he and Tommy could both easily reach it, so only Laurel would have to ask for some—not that either Tommy or Laurel had even looked at the snack their hostess had brought out for the movie.

 

_"So, part two. Here we are," the therapist's voice opened another scene. "Only this time, you came back alone. Why did you come back?"_

_"I'm not sure, really," John shook his head. "Let me clarify, I love my wife. Um, I want her to be happy. Uh, I want good things for her. But there are times..." he brought his hands up and plainly mimicked ringing her neck._

 

_The scene cut to the couple in bed as John took off his watch, setting it on the bedside table, and turned his light off before starting to settle in. "Honey, would you just—"_

_"Five more minutes," Jane interrupted._

_John sighed, but tried to go to sleep with her light on without arguing._

 

_The scene switched back to the therapist's office, but Jane was the one there by herself now. "There's this **huge** space between us," she made an all-encompassing gesture. "And it just keeps filling up with everything we don't say to each other... What's that called?"_

_"Marriage." Doctor Wexler answered plainly. Then, as she looked down at her wedding ring while her fingers fidgeted, he asked her, "What don't you say to each other?"_

_Jane visibly paused again at that question, looking away. Then she looked back with a smile that didn't look quite as uncomfortable and tense as she, like her husband, had when they were asked the sex question. Instead of answering right away, she sighed._

_And the scene cut back to the couple, where they were now eating dinner._

Oliver tried not to look, but as the couple talked about peas and salt, continued interactions with the therapist taking place at the same time, he found his eyes trailing back to his friends anyway.

 

He wasn't sure if that was strange or not. With all the secrets he was keeping, and some of the secrets Felicity seemed to have, too, shouldn't he be worrying more about the two of them? Rather than his best friend's relationship with the woman that was his girlfriend years ago?

 

_“This looks nice,” John was saying as put his napkin on his lap. “Did you do something new?”_

_“Um-hum,” Jane nodded as she took a sip of wine, answering as she swallowed and set the glass down. “I added peas.”_

_“Yeah, peas,” John nodded as he looked between her plate and his own, actually visibly studying it. “Yeah, it’s the green.”_

_Jane’s smile looked a little forced even though it was barely there anyway as she started cutting her meat._

_John started doing the same thing then, even as he asked her, “Sweetheart, will you pass the salt?”_

_“It’s in the middle of the table,” Jane replied as she took a bite._

_He finished a sip of wine and then looked towards said spot on the table, which they couldn’t see on screen other than the tops of the two candles flickering and spaced evenly between the pair, presumably with the salt between them. “Oh, is that the middle of the table?”_

_“Yeah. It’s between you and me,” his wife answered firmly._

_Leading to yet another awkward moment of silence between the two of them as the scene dragged to an end, before the cut showed Jane back at the therapist’s office by herself yet again._

 

 

Oliver thought he should be more worried about himself and Felicity than his friends, and he was surprised to find he _wasn't_. He worried about Felicity for many different reasons, and he worried about what she might think about some of the things he hadn't told her yet and some of the things he'd probably never be able to tell her... but somehow he couldn't see their secrets destroying them. And considering how lies and trying to live up to expectations that couldn't be met had ruled his life before _The Gambit_ sank, that seemed strange to him, but not in a bad way.

 

_"How honest are you with him?" Doctor Wexler was asking Missus Smith now, still sounding like every question was the most reasonable thing to ask in the world._

_“Pretty honest,” Jane answered right away, then she smiled a little nervously. “I mean, it’s not like I lie to him or anything. We just... I have secrets." She shrugged, still smiling the same smile. "Everybody has secrets. You know?"_

 

 

Laurel shifted suddenly at that, not looking at Tommy, but clearly not liking that line anymore than she’d liked Mister Smith’s married-buddy flirting at all with other women. She probably didn’t like that Missus Smith was the one that’d said the line, because it served to remind her that Tommy didn’t know everything about her either. After all, she’d kept more than a few dangerous secrets herself, and undoubtedly would do so again.

 

Oliver didn’t let himself think about the fact that more than a few of those secrets—the actually dangerous ones—had involved himself and thereby been his fault far more than hers…

 

_The next scene in the couple’s house eventually led to Missus Smith clearly getting ready to go out to work even though it was the middle of the night. She jumped when her husband suddenly slammed one of the bathroom drawers open. “Jesus!” she glanced over her shoulder only after she’d finished tying her coat shut. “Honey, you scared me.”_

_“I’m sorry, hon,” John answered off-handedly. “I was just looking for the…” he picked something small up out of the drawer as if to show her. “You going out?_

_“Yes.” She wasn’t even looking at him because she was getting a pretty pink scarf to tie around her neck to slightly lessen the severity of her long coat. "Some clown crashed a server in a law firm downtown and end the world as they know it. So, yes.”_

_“We promised the Colemans,” her husband reminded her._

_And Jane nodded. “I know. I’ll be there,” she promised him. “In and out. Just a quickie.”_

_“Okay,” John answered as he watched her leave._

_The scene then cut to her car driving away while he put his coat on._

_Then they were back to the therapist’s office with Mister Smith on his own again, listening to Doctor Wexler assure him, “It probably feels like you’re the only people going through this, but I’ll tell you something. There are millions of couples that are experiencing the same problems.”_

_John stared at him for a solid second before he finally blinked. “…Uh-huh.”_

 

 

Oliver was the one to snort this time, since it seemed very obvious to him that the man’s wife had just left the house to go kill somebody while her husband thought about his earlier visit with the therapist that was clear across town.

 

Tommy and Laurel both glanced at him briefly, but looked back at the movie without saying anything while Felicity just snuggled a little closer.

 

He had to blink when the next cut showed Mister Smith sitting in the back of a taxi as it went into the city, rather than his wife headed in, though Jane too stepped out of a taxi in front of a hotel in the next cut, despite driving her car into town. So apparently the couple both had deadly secrets to take care of tonight…

 

_“We got a plane in an hour,” a man that was obviously a bodyguard told Jane after he’d checked her purse to find handcuffs inside._

_Miss Smith, of course, nodded. “All right,” she acknowledged, before walking across the room full of more guards, who were currently all watching Jeopardy._

_“Prodded about possible insider trading,” Alex Trebek was reading just then. “She remarked on national television, ‘I want to focus on my salad.’ Ryan.”_

_“Martha Stewart,” Jane answered before she went into the master suite’s bedroom just as the contestant gave the same answer, which was confirmed as correct. She closed and locked the bedroom doors behind her before turning to look for the man that was undoubtedly her target tonight. That lock on those doors wouldn’t be much of a barrier against the bodyguards since the doors were literally made of glass, but it’d provide her with a modicum of privacy they’d expect the high-end prostitute she was playing to probably want and it would also give her time to draw a weapon that was probably hidden somewhere under her business coat._

Laurel didn’t look much happier with the way this scene was playing out: she wasn’t frowning or scowling, but she was hiding behind that straight-face she’d had mastered even back in high school. Though as a lawyer, of course, she’d gotten even better at that look.

 

Oliver was a little surprised at just how naïve his ex-girlfriend was in exactly how she thought a high-end female assassin might manage to get to a well-guarded target. As the next scene cut to the lead man walking through a bar, however, some of the stiffness in her posture seemed to relax. That hardly seemed fair to him, but he deliberately looked back at the movie instead of focusing on his ex-girlfriend’s still not quite graspable quirks of thought…

_“Forty,” said one of the men playing poker at a table in an area off the kitchen that John was clearly making his way towards._

_“All right,” another one answered. “I’ll match you…” he trailed off as the door suddenly opened with Mister Smith stumbling in._

_“What’s hell is this shite?” the first man demanded as all three of them stared at the intruding stranger._

_“Sorry’s,” John raised his hands, his words slightly slurred as he looked around. “Where’s the can around here? For Chrissake… Take a…” he trailed off again, as if just noticing what they were doing. “Hey, you guys playing poker?”_

_“Private game,” the third man told him, waiving him back the way he’d come. His undoubtedly unfriendly expression not visible because the camera was behind him, leaving them only seeing his shoulder-length blond hair. “Piss off.”_

_John ignored his tone and gesture like he hadn’t heard or seen the response. “Hey, could I sit in? You think I could—”_

_“What part of ‘piss off’ do you not understand?” the bald one of the three yelled at him._

_“Guys…” John held his hands up at his sides, clearly non-threatening as he half-ambled, half-drunken-stumbled towards the mentioned free chair. “Hey, whoa, whoa. Be a little friendly, I got the cash…” he reached into his coat._

_That made one of the men—the till then silent brunette—reach for the gun strapped to his waist._

_“Easy, big fella.” John, of course, noticed, and focused on him, “That’s **cool** , man. You’re cool. Lis—Look, see?” he showed them a big wad of cash he’d brought with him. “You see what I’m saying? She what I’m saying? Anyone interested?” he sniffs the cash as the camera cuts to two of the men around the table, panning over to the other._

_All three men were clearly interested in the cash, evidently buying his act on being already almost all the way under the table with drink._

_“Nah,” John went on then. “‘Cause I’ll clean you out. I understand. I understand, I’m gonna…” he pretends to put his money back his inner coat pocket, but drops it instead, immediately bending down to pick it up again. “Those are really nice shoes, man,” he says leaning towards them, and promptly hitting his head on the back of the chair he wasn’t looking at, making him stumble and the two closest men reached out to steady him but stopped when he didn’t fall._

_“Jesus…” the farthest man swore incredulously._

_“Here’s an empty chair,” John said as he stood up, looking at the chair he’d just hit his head on. “I’ll sit here…”_

_“ **That** , is Lucky’s chair,” the far blond man told him firmly._

_“W-Well where’s Lucky?” John immediately asked, turning in a circle. “I don’t see Lucky.”_

_“Lucky’s not back yet,” Blond-Man bit out._

_“Then I’ll sit here,” John gestured at the chair again, smiling at the. “Unless I’m too hot for you?” he smirked, still stumbling drunkenly in place._

 

 

Laurel shifted again as the movie cut back to the very red-themed hotel master suite, where Missus Smith was still wearing her long business coat as she waited for her ‘client’ to come out of the bathroom, where they could all hear he was gargling mouthwash for the last time. She didn’t say anything still, so they all just kept watching.

 

Tommy, meanwhile, wasn’t saying anything either. In fact, Oliver didn’t think the other man had moved in the last five minutes, his awkward, silent misery the fog that hanging under the thunderstorm hadn’t broken yet because Laurel was still waiting for him to make a move to make it right. And Tommy didn’t know how to respond to his girlfriend’s un-dimming unhappiness, despite what Felicity had told him earlier, the situation had clearly just gotten worse between the two. So the other former playboy clearly didn’t give a damn either when the hot lead actress finally took off her severe coat in response to her ‘client/target’s’ smirking nod, to reveal the leather dominatrix outfit she was wearing underneath.

 

Five years ago, Oliver and Tommy both would’ve both whistled at the sexy sight and Laurel would’ve rolled her eyes. But the tension rolling off her now kept them both quiet.

 

Though the outfit somehow reminded him a little of the purple outfit the Huntress had designed for herself, too, so that diminished the appeal for Oliver. Tommy had never seen Helena decked out with her crossbow, but Felicity had. Neither one seemed to find it noteworthy though, so maybe his mind was still just stuck on the fact that he had no idea where she was and when she’d be back yet again…

_“Solid silver,” John was saying as he threw his watch on the table._

_“Ooh, very sweet,” Blond-Man approved while baldy picked it up to read the inscription on the back._

_“‘To dodging bullets. Love, Jane.’”_

_“In the pot!” John insisted, still with all the emphatic emphasis of a drunk who didn’t recognize that he was feeling no pain for that very specific reason, pointing at the center of the small poker table. “Put it in the pot!”_

_And the poker game sped on in the same fashion, ‘drunk-John’ clearly losing again and again because he had no poker face whatsoever, which one of the men finally actually said._

_“He’s got fourteen different tells!” Baldy was laughing along with the others. “You are bleeding William Tell,” he told John while the blond-man started humming what was clearly supposed to be some sort of song._

_The door opened in the middle of the song and a fourth man came in, staring at them incredulously as he found a stranger in the room, and in his chair, since this had to be the ill-fated ‘Lucky.’ “What the hell is this?”_

_“Sorry, Lucky,” the twitchy brunette immediately apologized._

_“Looks like you’re done, pal,” Blond-Man told John as he turned to look over his shoulder at the newcomer, reaching into his in the same smooth move. “Thanks for the memories.”_

_“Oh, you Lucky?” John asked, turning to look over his shoulder at him._

_“Yeah.”_

_“No kidding.”_

_Lucky frowned at him confusedly while his three men shifted around, still uncomfortable at being caught with the stranger in Lucky’s seat. “So what’s it, kid? You lookin’ for a job or something?”_

_And like that the drunk demeanor was gone._

_“You are the job,” John told him coldly, before pulling the trigger of the gun he’d had hidden in his coat the whole time._

_The twitchy brunette immediately tried to grab his own gun, but at some point during the poker game the not-really-drunk assassin had made sure it’d ended up on the floor and out of reach, so he couldn’t do anything as John shoved himself back from the table and shot the three other card players, too._

_John put his guns away before reclaiming all of his belongings from the table, and then he picked up his cards from the current hand to actually look at them, immediately throwing them down in disgust as he turned to leave. “Pair of threes…”_

 

 “ _Jesus_ …” Tommy swore under his breath, looking stunned. His skin had even gone a few shades paler.

 

Oliver didn’t really understand why. Nothing the scene had portrayed had been all that hard to plan or execute, especially when you considered they _knew_ the professional assassin was just pretending to be drunk to make the guards let their guard down around him. But his friend had actually lost a little color as he blinked at the movie screen.

 

Laurel turned to look at her boyfriend again, but her frown was now all concern. “Tommy? Are you okay?”

 

It took Oliver a solid second of watching the two to figure out why, while Felicity reached for the remote to pause the movie.

 

By then, however, Laurel was talking again. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking torn. “I-I didn’t think about how this might feel after what happen to you and your dad—”

 

“No, no, it’s fine,” Tommy told her immediately, shaking his head even as Oliver felt like a heel himself for not even considering it either. “I-uh, I honestly didn’t think about it either…” he shook his head. “It’s not really the same thing, I mean, my-my Dad was almost killed by a-a sniper, so…”

 

“It’s still a gun, and the sniper that shot him wasn’t the only attacker there. Anyway, that whole night couldn’t have been easy for you,” Felicity spoke up softly when he trailed off, probably to save him from the fact that he’d never told anyone about his father killing two of the Triad hitmen during their flight up to the office.

 

Deaths that the S.C.P.D had probably attributed to The Vigilante doing their job for them…

 

_That_ aspect of what’d happened at _Merlyn Global Group_ was still something Oliver preferred not to think about, but he preferred not to think about any of it. And he knew Felicity and Digg were right about looking into Mister Merlyn: after all, the man had handled the two Triad hitmen at least as smoothly as Oliver himself ever has, and that meant he had training and some experience, too. But that wasn’t something he was going to think about now while he was watching his best friend try to get a hold of himself so they could press play again.

 

“No,” Tommy shook his head. “No, it-it wasn’t. But really, I’m okay, we can keep—”

 

“You know what?” Felicity cut him off as she got up suddenly. “I think this movie may call for red wine. What’d you think?” she asked even as she headed for the kitchen.

 

“Don’t have to twist my arm,” Laurel agreed right away, shooting a relieved look the other woman’s way even while her boyfriend apologized.

 

“Sorry, I should’ve grabbed some at the club to bring with us.”

 

“Believe me,” Felicity laughed lightly as she opened the door of her pantry to reveal the literal wine of wall bottles they could all see at this angle. “I have _plenty_ of wine.”

 

“She _loves_ red wine,” Oliver explained, grinning a little in relief at the break as he got to his feet, headed for the cupboard he knew she hid the wine glasses in to start getting them out. “It’s her only vice.”

 

“Well, not my _only_ one,” Felicity corrected with a laugh.

 

Oliver shrugged, “Only one you’ve told me about.”

 

“True,” she chuckled.

 

“Red wine’s a good vice,” Laurel opined immediately, and the smiles the two women exchanged then made both men smile, too.

 

“So what’d you feel like tonight?” Felicity asked the room at large, though she had to know they’d let the women decide, whether they were all sharing the wine or not. “Cabernet? Pinot Noir? Merlot? Maybe a blend?”

 

“Some of the blends are pretty good,” Laurel agreed, then admitted, “I’ve always preferred Pinot.”

 

“Fine with me,” Felicity shrugged, not even needing to look at the table as she pulled out one of the bottles that’d been about half-way up the wall. She handed the bottle over to her boyfriend with a smile as he reached for it with one freehand and her corkscrew in the other, then she looked at the other couple still on the couches again. “We should probably order our dinner, too.”

 

“I already took care of that,” Oliver told her, earning eye-rolls from his childhood friends and a blink from his girlfriend.

 

“Oh you did, did you?” Felicity raised an eyebrow before she made a show of looking around her kitchen expectantly. “Looks a little like you forgot to bring it with you,” she teased, making the others laugh yet again because they knew as well as she did what his answer would be.

 

“It’s being delivered,” Oliver assured her as he handed her the tasting portioned first glass of wine.

 

Felicity swirled the wine in her glass’s big bowl with clearly expert ease, “Well, I’m always up for a nice surprise,” she shrugged, before bringing the glass up for a delicate, but obviously also well-practiced, sniff. “As long as it’s not still moving on its own, anyway. Or bugs. I refuse to ever eat bugs, whether they’re still moving or not.”

 

“Yeah, gives the term ‘creepy’ a new meaning, doesn’t it?” Laurel agreed with another laugh as she watched the blonde return her wineglass to the counter with a nod of approval, and then they all watched Oliver fill all four of the glasses.

 

Oliver was honestly feeling a little like his friends—his ex-girlfriend especially—should be suffering from emotional whiplash right now, but he wasn’t actually that surprised either.

 

Laurel had, at heart, never been a selfish person, which had only made him feel worse every time he’d hurt her with one of his too-many-to-count bouts of undiluted selfishness. He didn’t doubt she was still angry with her boyfriend for not telling her what’d happened to his hand, but her putting that aggravation on the backburner wasn’t a shock either. Not as a response to the movie’s first on-screen assassination reminding Tommy of when the Triad had tried to kill his Dad a few weeks ago—and him because he’d been there.

 

“Yes it does,” Felicity agreed.

 

“Oh, _wow,_ this is good,” Tommy said after barely even swallowing his first sip, and Oliver had to agree with him just as much as Laurel clearly did as they sipped theirs.

 

“It is,” Felicity agreed, giving him a smile before she turned back to Oliver with an eyebrow going up. “So? What’s for dinner?”

 

“You just said you like surprises,” Oliver reminded her with a small smirk as she rolled her eyes now.

 

“This is _very_ good,” Laurel commented then, obviously referring to the wine. “What vintage is it?”

 

“Hmm, I’m not sure which one it was actually—I didn’t look. Tastes like Sonoma, maybe the 2009? I think that’s the last one I bought,” Felicity guessed as Oliver obligingly turned back to the kitchen to actually read the bottle.

 

“Yeah, ‘Hanzell, Sonoma Valley Pinot Noir,” Oliver read the label, before setting it back down and raising his glass again. The name meant nothing to him; he wasn’t a wine connoisseur and never had been. He’d grown up with money, though, and no regard for prices for most of his life, so he could recognize that this was a very good wine. And the polished, deep wine was practically perfect. Possibly one that was even pricier than he would’ve expected Felicity to buy on an I.T girl’s salary—especially when she had a whole wall of wines hidden in her pantry.

 

“Huh, I thought those had sold out a few years back already,” Tommy, who was a big fan of red wine just like Laurel, commented after he’d savored another sip. “The distributor didn’t seem to have any for Verdant.”

 

“I don’t typically order from the distributors, Tommy,” Felicity pointed out with a chuckle. “I go into a store that sells wine,” then she shrugged. “Or my friends send me some. Actually, it’s more my friends. Bottles of wine are the common gift for me—the bottles and the club memberships. It’s my ‘thing’ apparently.”

 

“Not a bad ‘thing’ either,” Laurel laughed, apparently having been shocked out of her aggravation at her boyfriend enough to actually enjoy herself now.

 

Oliver still wasn’t entirely sure it made sense to him on the whole, but then women never did: never entirely, anyway…

 

“Very true,” Felicity agreed, then she raised an eyebrow at him again. “So you’re not going to tell us what we’re having for dinner?”

 

“Nope,” he decided, grinning in bemusement even though it wasn’t something he’d even remotely planned.

 

“Oh come on,” Tommy finally got into it. “No hints?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Well alright then,” Felicity finally decided, heading back to her spot on the couch and picking up the remote, “We might as well watch some more of the movie. Okay with you?” she glanced at Tommy, who immediately nodded.

 

“Yeah.” Tommy told her. “Yeah, I’m fine, thanks.”

 

So Oliver made his way back to the couch and sat down between his best friend and his girlfriend again, wrapping one arm around her as she pressed play to wake her Blu-Ray machine up and resume their movie, which had been paused after they’d returned to the dominatrix scene, so the first thing they heard was the crack of a whip.

 

**_Crack!_ **

_“Have you been a bad boy?” Mistress Jane was asking from behind the man she’d gone there to kill, who was kneeling and had actually let her shackle him with his hands behind his back._

_“Yes…” her client/target breathed out eagerly._

_“Um-hum?”_

**_Crack!_ **

_“Ooh…” the man moaned._

_“You know what happens to bad boys?” Jane immediately asked as she walked around him, turning to whip him again when his eyes only followed her ass._

**_Crack!_ **

_“They get punished.”_

**_Crack!_ **

_“Oh, yeah,” the man replied, still eager as ever. “Punish me.”_

**_Crack!_ **

 

Oliver had honestly never found the idea of this kind of play all that appealing. He’d tried it a few times—like just about everything else—but even if he’d ever actually _liked_ it, he couldn’t say he’d be willing to surrender that much control to anyone. Even before Lian Yu, never mind after it. Granted, Anatoly had taught him just how to escape handcuffs with relative—if not painless—ease, so he wouldn’t be truly restrained unless he allowed it. But he honestly didn’t think he could do that. And he highly doubted he’d enjoy it anymore now than he had when he’d dabbled in it before.

 

Laurel had never been interested in it either, though they’d tried many kinds of roles together and talked about a whole lot more. She couldn’t easily surrender anything either, though, let alone total control, so maybe that was why they’d never tried it together…

 

And somewhat surprisingly the outfit really didn’t appeal to Oliver either, even on Angelina Jolie. It reminded him too much of Helena’s Huntress outfit, and what draw there’d been _there_ was gone after everything she’d done and everything she might still do.

 

The thought of Felicity in something similar crossed his mind just then though, and he couldn’t deny that his subconscious was right: his new girlfriend _would_ look really, really hot in tight leather. That goth outfit she’d worn for going ‘undercover’ at _Merlyn Global_ a few weeks ago had more than proved that, and his imagination was quite capable of carrying that forward if he let it…

 

Which, given the uncomfortable tension that’d thankfully managed to break—for not anyway—just a few minutes ago, now probably wasn’t a great time for such imaginings. So Oliver was rather relieved when the short scene started to slam closed.

 

_“Oh yeah…” the soon-to-be-dead-and-probably-very-bad-man was still very focused on his final punishment._

**_Crack!_ **

_Jane walked right up behind him then, and whispered in his ear, “Have you been selling big guns to bad people?”_

_It ruined ‘the moment’ completely, as it was meant to, making utter confusion steal over the man’s face as soon as he realized exactly what she had just said. But by then it was too late, as her hands were already holding his head to jerk it around with a violent:_

**_SNAP!_ **

_And the big bad arms dealer was dead._

 

 

Not that he really would be, but only someone who actually knew how much force it took to snap a man’s neck would know that. Even if they got the sound effect right, Jane had barely turned the armsdealer’s head before it was heard—and it just wasn’t _that_ easy.

 

She’d barely touched his head before letting go so the man could fall to the floor, playing dead. The added sound and the fact that the camera went away from him in that second where she supposedly snapped his neck covered it pretty well, but not enough for Oliver not to notice it.

 

Which was to be expected: they were, after all, only actors. And it wasn’t like most people would actually know the amount of physical force it actually took to snap someone’s neck, and they wouldn’t want to anyway.

 

For a second he thought none of the others had been at all bothered by the abrupt, slightly too easy death. That either the fact that the man being killed was confirmed as a ‘bad guy’ half-a-second before his ‘death’ or simply the fact that this was a movie and none of them had any P.T.S.D related to snapped necks meant it hadn’t phased them at all. But after that first second he realized Felicity had tucked her face further into his shoulder and she wasn’t watching the scene with the same surreal fascination that Tommy and Laurel were as the dramatic music built up once one of the bodyguards quickly realized their principal wasn’t anywhere near as safe as they’d thought he was. That’d led to Jane making a quick—clearly planned and perfectly executed—escape: by leaping off of the hotel suite’s balcony after hooking one of her purse’s big loops around what looked like an outdoor lantern on the wall.

 

Oliver, of course, knew that a controlled descent like that _was_ certainly possible, but it was also another one of the factors that made him put so much work into keeping his form fighting trim and easily able to lift his own weight again and again no matter how many times he ever had to do it. The salmon ladder was a full body exercise that achieved that goal without required much thought on his part most of the time, though he’d be lying if he said that another plus was the unhidden interest in Felicity’s eyes literally every time she saw him performing that particular physical feat…

 

He was just a little distracted from Jane jumping off the balcony, however, by Felicity tucking her face a little farther into his neck. The bemusement he felt at knowing that they were supposed to believe Jane’s arm wouldn’t have at least been yanked out of its socket when that line jerked her to a stop before she could crashed onto the sidewalk had to take a backseat to how the scene unexpectedly bothered his girlfriend. As Jane asked for a taxi from the man she’d just shocked by dropping straight down of the sky, Oliver thought he connected the dots. After all, Felicity had only listened to him do stuff like that, not watched it so that must’ve been what it was about the unrealistic stunt that bothered the woman in his arms even more than the easy murder had, but he waited till she’d finished the slightly larger than normal sip of wine she was taking before he actually asked her. “Don’t like heights?” he asked softly, though not quietly enough to avoid the concerned glance Tommy, too, gave the blonde.

 

Felicity tilted her head back enough to blink big blue eyes at him. “What?” she asked back just as softly.

 

Oliver tilted his head towards the screen to indicate the still playing movie. “When she jumped…”

 

“Oh,” Felicity realized what he was talking about then and answered even as she looked back to the movie where both Mister & Missus Smith were back home again. “Yeah, I’m not really a fan of heights.”

 

Oliver kept watching her, more interested in what he could see in the slight profile of her face watching the movie than what was happening in that movie itself. There was definitely more there than she was saying, but he wasn’t sure if he should press either…

 

_“Hey, hon,” John was greeting his wife when he found her in the bedroom, not noticing that she’d ducked out of his sight to hide her dominatrix outfit, trying to cover it with getting ready for wherever they were supposed to go soon._

_“Hey, baby,” Jane replied. “I didn’t hear you downstairs.”_

_“Yeah, I went to the sports bar. Put some money on the game,” he told her as he leaned down to pick up the coat she’d just dropped on the bathroom floor._

_“Yeah? How’d you do?” she asked him as she slipped her wedding ring back on._

_John smirked as he tossed the jacket onto the chair in their closet space, “I got Lucky,” he answered smugly, turning to head back downstairs while she finished getting ready while his wife, unaware of the inside joke, simply rolled her eyes and got back to getting dressed._

 

 

All of them were snorting or laughing at least a little.

 

“Oh, that’s _awful,”_ Laurel insisted, but she was smiling and all but giggling even as she said it.

 

“They definitely planned that one when they picked the name ‘Lucky,’” Tommy put in and Oliver nodded.

 

Under his arm, Felicity was laughing just a little, too. “Hey, every good movie needs at least a few bad jokes.”

 

Oliver snorted again at that, and that amusement kept them all a little entertained even as they watched the couple awkwardly attend what was apparently their neighbors’ house party, that somehow led to Jane very uncomfortably holding a baby long enough for John to see her, and then the scene cut to them in the bathroom later that night: with John trying to compliment his wife while she brushed her teeth.

 

The next morning they saw that not only did John keep all of his ‘dough’ under the tool shed, which he’d told someone at the party the night before but he had a full armory down there, too. After he left for work Jane went into the kitchen, where her own armory was apparently hidden in a password-protected second oven. Then both assassins were off to work: John’s office, of course, was disguised as a building contractor and Jane worked with a lot of other women in a high-rise.

 

Laurel sighed suddenly, “They can’t just dance around the fact that they don’t really know each other forever.”

 

“We’re not even half an hour into the movie yet,” Felicity reminded her lightly. “But don’t worry, all the secrets will come out soon.”

 

When Laurel only sighed and drank more wine, Oliver saw Tommy was wincing again and winced himself. A glance at the clock was a little reassuring though: dinner should be here any minute. And with it they could all responsibly drink more wine. Whether he’d normally have a second or third glass these days didn’t matter: tonight definitely called for it…

 

_“Good morning, Mister Smith,” an old lady with short white hair and huge, thick glasses greeted him inside his office. “There’s trouble in Atlanta again.”_

_“That’s what I hear,” John replied as he stopped at her desk. “What you got?”_

_“I’ve got your boarding pass, tax receipts…” she hand them over, then immediately chastised, “Get rid of that gun—gum.”_

_“You got a tissue?” he asked, and then quickly spat his gum into the tissue she handed him before handing it back to her while she handed him more papers. Where exactly the gun she’d unintentionally referenced instead of the gum he was chewing was, who knew—then again it was probably code for something or other._

_“And your hotel bill.”_

_“Thanks.” John said as he started to walk away from her desk_

_“And don’t lose those.” She called after him. “Keep them in the envelope. You’ll need them for your cover.”_

_“We’ve got the new specs for the dam,” a guy  with a squeaky voice told John as he stopped at the office’s coffee station to pour himself a cup._

_“That’s great, Louie,” John replied. “I’ll check those out.”_

_“Here you go,” Louie handed the rolled up dam specs over._

_“Hey is Eddie here?” John asked the whole little office at large._

_“The door’s unlocked,” the old lady answered just as they heard a toilet flushing._

_John stopped in front of the office door with his name on it over the title ‘Professional Engineer,’ and looked towards the restroom to see the same friend who’d watched him practice taking a beating while they talked about the fact that he was getting married to a woman he hadn’t then know for two months yet. Apparently their friendship—and likely their working relationship—had survived the five or six years since then._

_“Morning, pal,” Eddie nodded to him as he exited the Restroom._

_“How you doin’?” John asked as he started unlocking his own office door._

_“Same old, same old. People need killin’.” Eddie shrugged, so apparently he was an assassin, too. He started walking away around a corner, but stopped and turned back before he’d taken a full step. “Oh, Johnny. I might have a little get-together this weekend. At my house. Barbecue. No ladies. Dudes only. It’s gonna be awesome.”_

_John was still focused on unlocking his office door’s many locks while the other assassin talked at him and didn’t turn back to look at him as he finally got it open and stepped inside. “Yeah, I’ll talk to the missus,” he called through his door as it shut behind him._

_“You wanta use my cellphone?” Eddie called after him sardonically. “Maybe give her a call, in case you decide to scratch your ass or use the head later.”_

_The camera switched into John’s office then, where they could hear his friend going on._

_“Make sure she thinks it’s okay.”_

_“You live with your mother,” John retorted as he dropped into his chair._

_“Why would you bring her into this?” Eddie demanded defensively as the camera went back to him. “She happens to be a first-class lady.”_

_Back in his office, John hit something on his desk that made what looked like metal coverings drop down over all the office windows while the other assassin kept going out in the hallway._

_“ **And** I don’t have to check in with her when I want to do something. She cooks, she cleans. She makes me snacks. And I’m the dumb guy?”_

 

Laurel snorted, unable to hide her satisfaction with the fact that the man with wondering eyes was apparently no longer married.

 

Oliver wasn’t at all surprised, and he doubted any of the others were either. But he also didn’t really care. Though apparently Laurel did, which meant Tommy did, too…

 

_John shook his head but didn’t call anything back this time, instead grabbing his coffee and rolling his chair over to another desk as a computer system appeared up out of it and started unfolding in front of him. He stated his name while typing something, which the computer’s security accepted._

_John took another sip of his coffee as he watched it finish opening._

_A strange diagram appeared on the center monitor as a woman’s filtered voice came out of it. “Hello, John.”_

_“Morning, Atlanta,” he replied._

_“Quite the body count this week. We have a priority one, so I need your expertise. The target’s name is Benjamin Danz, A-K-A ‘The Tank.’”_

_John turned to look at one of the right side monitor as the specifics she was talking about appeared there along with the man’s mug-shots._

 

“Hey, waitaminute,” Tommy blinked. “Isn’t that…”

 

“Yup,” Oliver acknowledged. Because he’d recognized the arrogant kid from earlier, too, and immediately his ARGUS-ingrained suspicions started whirring around inside his head. Of course, it probably wasn’t a fair comparison for any action-packed rom-com, whether it focused on two married assassins or not. No comedy could comprehend someone like the Director of ARGUS at all…

 

“What?” Laurel immediately wanted to know, frowning in confusion at the two of them.

 

Under his arm, Felicity sighed as she leaned forward to snatch the remote from her coffee table and put the movie on pause—right on the mug-shot that’d made the gears in their heads start turning. But she didn’t say anything. Then again, unlike the rest of them, she _had_ seen the movie before. Actually, no: Laurel had, too, so how she wasn’t noticing what had to come to light later in the movie her ex-boyfriend wasn’t even going to try guessing at.

 

Her current boyfriend, however, did answer the question. “He was the irritating guy earlier,” he told her, and she blinked at him.

 

“What irritating guy?” Laurel shook her head. “His friend is still out in the hallway, not—”

 

“He only had a few minutes on screen earlier,” Felicity interrupted to reassure her.

 

And it worked, because the lawyer gave in with a sigh, “Alright, fine, just keep playing. I’ll figure it out eventually.”

 

“He’s—”

 

“I said I’ll figure it out, Tommy,” Laurel insisted.

 

And before they could get going—if his friend was really that suicidal—Felicity pressed play again.

 

_“He’s a direct threat to the firm,” Atlanta’s always authoritative voice went on as the viewpoint switched to watching a helicopter while the altered-feminine voice kept talking. “D.I.A custody. They’re making a ground-to-air-handoff to heli, ten miles north of the Mexican border. I need you to make sure the target does not change hands.”_

_Johns only response to all of that after also looking through the information he’d been sent at the same time was to ask incredulously, “‘The Tank?’”_

“He’s got a point. That kid’s no ‘tank.’” Tommy snorted while they watched Missus Smith walk through the busy city streets and into the downtown building that her own office was located in. “I mean, I could see your big bodyguard—”

 

Felicity’s sudden laughter cut him off, and Oliver was hard pressed not to laugh himself.

 

“Digg’s not that bad,” he told his friend, grinning as he rolled his eyes.

 

“No, I know. But I mean he’s…”

 

“Built like a tank?” Felicity offered, not quite able to get the last word out without giggling again as she said it.

 

Oliver was just hoping the two of them would be able to _not_ think about this the next time they saw Digg. Or at least he hoped that _he_ would, Felicity could probably get away with it…

 

_“Sorry to interrupt,” a man’s filtered voice was saying to Jane where she was stuck standing inside what appeared to be her office’s security check-point. “But we have a situation. You know the competition would love to see us burn. I need you to handle this personally.”_

_“Target?” Jane asked immediately, looking at the screen that clearly showed a scan of her body and clearly listed off all the weapons she was carrying from top to bottom: metal hairpin, pistol, boot knife, and the heels of her shoes, apparently._

_“Benjamin Danz. I’m rolling the specs now. We need this quick, clean and contained.”_

_Jane smiled. “Yes, sir,” she nodded, and was finally free from the blue scanning room, going on into the large office area where she was clearly in charge. “Ladies,” she greeted the room at large, because apparently only women worked there, and all of them called back greetings while a redhead approached Jane._

_Jane accepted the cup of coffee and the report she was carrying even as the redhead explained said report to her._

_“Yesterday’s op resulted in one kill and one agent in protective custody.”_

_“Not good. We’ll get him out tomorrow,” Jane declared, and the redhead nodded while Jane went on to the brunette who was also waiting for her._

_“Another two cases of the G-40’s, and the grenade launchers are here.”_

_“Order ten more,” Jane ordered, then the camera switched her sitting down at the head of the table in a meeting room. “All right. Go, Jas.”_

_A pretty African-American woman immediately stood up and started reporting while they watched the detail appear on a screen in front of them. “The target’s name is Benjamin Danz, A.K.A ‘The Tank.’”_

_“Are you serious?” Jane asked her as they looked at several images of the kid on-screen, and all of them were black-and-white photos that looked even less impressive than his mug-shots had on her husband’s computer._

_“Yeah.” Jas confirmed and went on. “The target is being moved across the border to a federal facility. The only point of vulnerability is just south of the border.”_

_“I want G.P.S and S.A.C of the canyon,” Jane ordered immediately. “And the weather report for the last three days.”_

 

“Well, they’ve gotta run into each other now,” Tommy interjected. “They’re both trying to kill the same guy.”

 

“Looks like,” Oliver agreed, glancing at the girl under his arm as she shifted again, just in time to see her nose wrinkle a little in that cute slightly confused expression she pulled sometimes. He almost asked, because he really didn’t see what she’d be confused by here, but she spoke up a moment later even while they watched the movie switch to wide view of mountains and desert, which was obviously the mentioned Mexican border.

 

“I’m not sure the five or six year timeline makes sense anyway,” Felicity said then. “I mean, they were living together and both working out of the same general area. Shouldn’t their careers have crossed sooner?”

 

“They did,” Oliver reminded her. “In Bogota.”

 

Felicity snorted, “You know what I mean.”

 

He did, but he also was having a hard time not being reminded of Amanda Waller, who wasn’t someone he ever liked to think about anyway. So he was really at a loss for something better to say. Besides, the five or six year joke could only be told so many times…

 

“It’s sad, but I’m not sure it’s really that unrealistic,” Laurel told her then, shaking her head as she took the last sip of her first wine. “We’ve had several different assassins in Starling City in just the last few months. And the Chinese mob is operating out of Chinatown all the time. So’s the Vigilante these days.”

 

“He’s not the same thing,” Felicity objected immediately, ignoring the gentle squeeze Oliver gave her then.

 

Laurel didn’t seem to notice the reproach in the other woman’s voice; she was too caught up in her own thoughts still. “No, I don’t think so either,” she answered, and then shrugged. “But we can’t really know that without knowing who he is and why he’s doing what he does. And he has killed people.”

 

“He’s saved a lot of people, too,” Tommy interjected, a little hesitant but firm even though his eyes were locked on the again paused movie. “Including my dad. And me, probably.”

 

“And me, too,” Laurel agreed before an even heavier sigh. “But we can’t…” she shook her head. “I mean, he went after _your_ _mom_ , too, Ollie.”

 

“He did.” Oliver managed to agree flatly. Then he hoped he didn’t look too thankful when the doorbell rang right then.

 

_Ding-Ding-Ding…_

 

“I’ll get it.”

 

“I really hope that’s dinner,” Felicity declared as she got up with him but headed for the kitchen instead of the front door. “‘Cause I’m starving.”

 

“Me too,” Tommy agreed with her, though he was following his friend to the door with clear curiosity regarding what they were going to be eating tonight. Or maybe just taking a few seconds to escape with him while Laurel helped Felicity brought silverware and napkins over to the dining room table.

 

Oliver was a little bit surprised by the pair he found on Felicity’s front step, but only because he’d been expecting one of them would be showing up with the delivery, not both of them. “Thank you for making the time for us, Mister Russo, Missus Russo,” Oliver greeted the man he hadn’t seen since that night he’d found Helena hiding under that biker helmet she’d hidden under when she was first taking on her father’s criminal enterprise and the owner of the little Italian restaurant had gotten caught in the crossfire just like Oliver’s mother had.

 

“Of course, Mister Queen, of course,” the older man replied. “It is our pleasure, truly.”

 

The owner of _Sea Grass_ and his wife all but bowed their way into Felicity’s house, clearly not about to even consider simply handing the bags of food over. Instead the pair headed first for the dining room table, though the deviated and went to the counter instead when they saw the plates that Felicity and Laurel had already stacked up there.

 

“And it is so nice to see you again, Miss Felicity!” Russo enthused as soon as he saw the blonde, which made all three of her guests blink, but the genuine smile on the restaurateurs’ faces wasn’t a shock to Oliver.

 

“It’s wonderful to see you, too, Cardini, Jenny,” Felicity greeted both Russo’s with warmth that was equal to their own as they smiled back at her. “Just leave it there, please. We can all sort it out ourselves.” She shrugged when she spotted Oliver’s confused smile, “I told you I like Italian food. Their restaurant has always been wonderful.”

 

“Thank you, Miss Felicity,” Russo returned, even as his wife pulled what looked like a new bottle of wine out of the bags they’d been carrying.

 

“The Di Valicorte’s asked that we hold a bottle of their wine for your next visit,” Missus Russo explained as she showed the bottle to the hostess, who was smiling already smiling and barely glanced at the label before she nodded.

 

“I’ll have to remember to thank Gina and Robert, then,” Felicity replied.

 

Oliver wasn’t at all familiar with the names, but that wasn’t much of a surprise. He couldn’t name any of Felicity’s friends, in fact, other himself and Digg. Plus Tommy and now Laurel, too. But of course Felicity had friends other than his own, and among them were this Gina and Robert Di Valicorte. _That_ wasn’t as much of a surprise as the fact that she knew the owners of the little Italian restaurant that Helena’s crusade had managed to free from under her father’s thumb was.

 

“Shall I?” Missus Russo offered, indicating the corkscrew that Oliver had left out after opening their first bottle of wine earlier.

 

“No, thank you, Jenny. Just leave it there, please,” Felicity indicated the counter, still smiling. “I’m sure you two have already worked more than hard enough tonight, though it was very nice of you to go so out of your way.”

 

“Not at all, Miss Felicity,” Mister Russo objected jovially, still smiling widely as he glanced around as his also smiling wife added her own sentiments.

 

“It is our pleasure.”

 

“Well, thanks,” Oliver decided to intervene then, handing Mister Russo the fold of big bills he’d just pulled from his pocket without even looking at it. He’d planned to tip the man well anyway, both because he’d gone out of his way for this and because it was expected because Oliver was a member of the Queen family. But also because he still felt a bit bad for what he’d barely managed to save the couple from, even though Helena’s crusade against her father’s criminal empire had managed to free the couple from being under the Bertinelli’s thumb anymore. “Keep the change.”

 

“Grazie, Mister Queen, grazie,” Russo nodded almost deeply enough for it to be a bow again as his wife did the saw, both of them still smiling for all of them as they head out. “Buon appetito!”

 

Tommy spoke up as soon as Oliver had closed the front door behind the couple again. “So, dinner from _Sea Grass_ , huh? Can’t remember the last time I went there. Smells great,” he finished with an appreciative sniff. Then he glanced at Felicity, “Go there a lot, Smoaky?”

 

That he’d waited even that long to tease her—managing a whole two sentences before it—surprised his friend more than the question itself did.

 

“Cardini’s a great chef,” Felicity shrugged. “And Jenny’s tiramisu is amazing.”

 

“Good thing Ollie ordered it, too, then,” Laurel mentioned as she looked into one of the containers.

 

“Great!” Tommy enthused. “Let’s eat!”

* * *

_A/N: Well, there’s Part 1. Of 4. Exactly how I let this ‘interlude’ turn into a 4-part story I’m really not sure, but it really does seem to be working better this way, and it allows me to not only show the other POVs, but post this part now while I’m still working on what follows it, so that’s a good thing, right?_

_The Arrow-Wiki says that the Italian restaurant was called ‘Russo’s’ after the owner, whom we heard Helena call “Mister Russo” when she and Oliver were there on their date. But when we see the restaurant from the outside it had a sign that said ‘Sea Grass,’ so I decided Jenny Russo and her husband, whom I gave the first name Cardini after the chef who created Caesar salad own ‘Sea Grass.’ Probably didn’t need that much explanation, but there it is…_

_And yes, I know Brad and Angelina have split. I see the tabloid headings in the supermarket, too. But once again we’re currently still in Season 1 of Arrow—that’s 2013 at the moment—and they didn’t break-up until sometime in 2016, which was a whole 11 years after Mr. & Mrs. Smith… and that makes me feel old. Again, the explanation is probably not necessary, but I think about these kinds of things, so there it is…_

_And if anyone is curious but not having luck with Google, Gina & Robert Di Valicorte are Angelina & Robert De Valicourt from Highlander. They’ve already been mentioned once, but I’ve changed their name here because Gina was Felicitas’ student here & she wouldn’t go by the same name for hundreds of years like Duncan MacLeod does…_

_And finally, two semi-random things I have to mention:_

_One: Kudos to Ariana Grande and everyone going back to Manchester with her for the benefit concert this Sunday. I can’t seem to get my TiVo to tape it, so I’ll have to find it on YouTube afterwards, but I have to give her and all the other stars credit for fighting terrorism in this little but very real way. She could’ve just done the sizable donation her label made to help the victims of the attack, which was $500,000, but instead she’s topping that off with going back less than two weeks after the attack. I’m not often impressed by celebrities for anything other than what made them a star, but this definitely deserved mention for trying to help people keep living life even after what happened there. I’ll say again that my heart goes out to the survivors of that horrific attack as well as everyone who lost a loved one there, and may the twenty-two innocents whose lives were cut short rest in peace. And, again, kudos to Ariana and all of the other performers making the time for the concert this coming Sunday._

_Two: And on a more light-hearted noted: kudos to Stephen Amell, who was fantastic on the celebrity edition of American Ninja Warrior. Between them the nine celebrities managed to complete 45 obstacles, which at $5,000 worth each totaled to $225,000. M &M’s & the Rockefeller donation added another $100K on top of that, which equaled $325,000 raised for Red Nose Day and donated to help children in need all around the world. After completing all six obstacles setup for the celebrities, Stephen said he wanted to do one more, which was of course the salmon ladder—though he called it quits after he got to the top of that rather than attempting another obstacle he had no training whatsoever in. All in all a fantastic job all around and a lot of fun to watch. :-D_

 

* * *

NEXT: _**Part 2: Another Target...**_


	2. Another Target

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sigh* Well, I’m still trying to figure out why the way I was adding pictures worked one day but then didn’t the next. Google not getting along with other browsers made a miniature modicum of sense to me, but now it doesn’t seem to want to show any images at all. Leaving me very confused.  
> Regardless, I hope you can enjoy this latest update without the images.  
> Thanks for reading! 

** Double Date or Couples Therapy? ** **by Jess S**

**_Part 2: Another Target_**.

_ Tommy Merlyn’s P.O.V. _

 

“Um- _um…_ ” Tommy felt no shame as he literally licked clean what he hadn’t been able to scrape off his dessert plate with a spoon. “Okay, Smoaky, you’re right, this stuff _is_ amazing,” he told her, grinning easily as all three of his friends shared light laughter at his expense. As he set the now tiramisu-less plate on the coffee table and leaned back into the couch he asked their hostess, “So you have friends who own a vineyard?” he ignored the look Oliver sent him, because really this was something the pair should’ve already clued him in on as the one that actually gave a damn about their _Verdant_.

 

The blonde finished savoring her own last spoonful of whipped amazement for a solid second before she made herself swallow and then finally acknowledge, “Yes. Gina’s family gave them an estate in Chieti for their wedding, back in…” she frowned for a second, then shook her head. “Oh, I can’t remember exactly when. But it’s a beautiful place. They’ve lived there for a while now. Not right after their wedding, or even the honeymoon. They lived outside Paris then, but they’ve been making wine in Italy for more than a few years now. It’s a pretty good Sangiovese—”

 

“Blend, yeah. And it’s more than good,” Tommy tipped his glass a little towards her. “I was actually looking into buying some for the club, but they were already sold out. We should be getting a shipment next year though. Hopefully it’s as soon as this one,” he finished, before taking another sip of the admittedly delicious blend.

 

Recognizing that bottle that Mister Russo had presented on behalf of the fairly famous vineyards owners to her had been an honest surprise. You only had to talk to the blonde for a few minutes to recognize her sheer genius, and it shouldn’t take anyone even that long to see her vibrant personality, especially with that mouth she sometimes couldn’t seem to control. Still, other than knowing that she was Oliver’s tech-support before the other man had started dating her, Tommy hadn’t thought she was anything other than those two things—the vigilante’s tech genius and girlfriend—at least before Missus Q had decided to take Ollie’s girlfriend under her wing. But, considering how scary his friend had become and some of the hacking-sort-of stuff he’d heard—and even seen—Smoaky get up to, that was nothing to shrug at, of course, but none of that would’ve made him guess that the girl might have friends who owned a very high-end vineyard in Italy. As far as Missus Q was concerned, Tommy knew this would definitely be another point in Oliver’s girlfriend’s favor, but he was pretty sure he’d find Felicity Smoak fascinating regardless.

 

Laurel loved red wine just as much as Tommy himself did—both of them probably about even with Felicity in that regard. Ollie, on the other hand, had always been a social drinker with no particular favorites—five years ago, anyway. These days Oliver seemed to be of the mindset that is body was something of a temple that he somehow still manage to put way too much time into working out in between going around aiming and sometimes shooting arrows at people. Tommy, though, could appreciate a good glass of red wine, and he could _really_ appreciate a great one. Felicity’s far-off friends were known to produce the great stuff.

 

Tommy was sure of that because he’d put a lot of time into researching where _Verdant_ should order stuff like that from. He’d put a whole lot of work—combing both time and effort—into making sure the nightclub would be the most amazing place in Starling City. So yeah, it’d hurt when he’d realized that Oliver had really only planned to use _Verdant_ as a cover for where he spent most of his time, since he didn’t want anyone to know he was out being the vigilante. That’d hurt almost as much as the realizations that his childhood best friend had lied to him—had lied to him a lot—and that he was a killer, too. Almost. But he’d still put everything he could into making _Verdant_ as amazing as it could possibly—and succeeded so far, since they were already turning a profit.

 

Recognizing the label on that delicious bottle of wine, however, had him keep pressing the blonde genius out of true curiosity. “So when you said you don’t order from the distributors, what you actually meant was you skip them completely?”

 

“They probably wouldn’t like it if you did that, Tommy,” Laurel told him before Felicity could answer. “Anyway, I’m not sure it’d be legal.”

 

What she really meant was that she was pretty sure it wouldn’t be legal but she hadn’t ever looked the exact legalese up. Tommy would assume she was right even if she wasn’t a lawyer, but that wasn’t what he was going for here.

 

Before he could keep pestering the blonde though, Felicity herself spoke up. “I did say my friends tend to send me bottles of wine a lot,” she reminded them all, which was fair, because she had said that.

 

“There’s a difference between friends buying you bottles of wine and friends who make them professionally sending you some,” Tommy told her.

 

Felicity only shrugged as she got up to start collecting the empty dessert plates and silverware once she’d finished her own, heading into the kitchen and towards the sink with them. “If they said they were sold out this year I can’t really help you get around that, Tommy. I think they’ve always sold out a few years in advance—hence the wait lists.”

 

“Let me help,” Laurel insisted as she got up and followed her into the kitchen.

 

“Thanks,” Felicity accepted smoothly, and in short order the two women had finished sorting the dishes into the dishwasher and were headed back.

 

By then Oliver had already topped off all their glasses with the amazing wine, though he’d given himself only half as much as everyone else. With the whole ‘my bottle is a temple’ thing since the island, it surprised Tommy that he’d even taken that half of a third glass. Though, somewhat more surprisingly, he found he didn’t really miss the friend he used to drink far too much alcohol in general with, anymore than he personally missed the hangovers that’d been such a stupidly common occurrence for both of them back then…

 

“So we’re ready to start again, right?” Laurel pressed, indicating the television with the remote.

 

“Think so. I mean, I still think we could’ve eaten and watched more of the movie out here, but...” Felicity shrugged. She hadn’t put up that much of an argument about not minding if they ate in front of the television instead of at the table or not, so all of them were reasonably sure she wasn’t trying to rush the movie to get rid of them.

 

“But you just got that couch today,” Laurel reminded her, for the third time tonight. She rolled her eyes when the other woman only shrugged again and the two men stayed mute out of self-preservation. “What about you two? Ready?”

 

“Yup,” Tommy answered quickly.

 

Oliver only nodded, and thankfully that was all that Laurel needed to press ‘play’ and bring the Blu-Ray out of its sleep mode to continue their movie again…

_The new scene was out in a great big desert that they were coming at from overhead as the voice of a woman who wasn’t Angelina Jolie—A.K.A ‘Missus Smith’—started reporting. “The target will rendezvous with the helicopter as a deserted airstrip,” the camera closed in on three hummers making their way through the desert as she went on. “We will have one chance to strike.”_

_Suddenly they were inside one of the vehicles, where they saw the kid who some idiot had named ‘The Tank’—or more importantly—the target here. He was currently stuck between two brutish looking federal agents who were both much bigger and much burlier than him. “Oh, look, more desert,” he said mockingly, not seeming to care that he was in the custody of the U.S Federal government or that there were now two very deadly assassins after him right now._

_Though he may or may not know the second part, since they didn’t know what his specific assignment had been before he was caught: only that he worked for the same guy Missus Smith did and that he wasn’t important enough to be let into the all important elevator like she was._

 

“You know, I’m not sure they could’ve picked a worse alias for that kid,” Tommy decided to just let that out. “I mean, they could’ve gone with The Kid, or… Well, I don’t know, but _something_ he could _possibly_ be called by _anyone?_ ”

 

“But then the movie wouldn’t have all the sarcasm packed into every time someone says that name,” Felicity pointed out with a grin that said she was enjoying his irritation at the movie at least as much as the movie itself.

 

“That is true,” Tommy admitted with a shrug, and he couldn’t help but grin back at her. He looked back at the movie just in time to see a dune-buggy burst into the scene of Jane’s clean-cut operation.

_The dune-buggy sped through the desert and into the very area Jane had just set up as a trap for the federal vehicles that were coming from the opposite direction._

_“Red team, red team, this is Broadway Joe,” a man’s voice was announcing. “Half-time is approaching.”_

_“Copy that, Broadway Joe,” John Smith was heard answering._

_“Oh, come on…” Jane groaned as she saw the car coming just then, and brought her binoculars up to study it more closely. “You getting this?”_

_“Affirmative,” the woman back at the base of operations acknowledged, and Tommy thought it sounded like the pretty black lady from earlier, but he wasn’t sure. “Is it a threat?”_

_“Countdown’s initiated,” another woman informed them both. “The convoy is not in the zone yet.”_

_“There’s an **idiot** in the field,” Jane explained as she climbed to her feet, bringing her binoculars up to watch said idiot again from the slightly higher vantage. _

 

Tommy really couldn’t help but snort at that, because he was sure—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that she’d have even less kind things to say if she realized said ‘idiot’ was her husband.

 

The slightly withering look Laurel shot his way dampened his mood a lot; the wine and meal had seemed to mellow her towards Ollie’s new girlfriend, but it’d somehow also made a lot of the worried sympathy she’d felt at the first on-screen assassination bothering her boyfriend fade away. He’d hoped that sympathy might stick around for at least the rest of the night, but her irritation at the secrets he couldn’t tell her apparently couldn’t be pushed off.

 

The sympathetic look Ollie offered him only helped a little, but Felicity’s giggles did, too…

 

_When the dune-buggy stopped right in the middle of Jane’s target area and the driver got out they saw that it was, of course, John Smith. But with his goggles and hat on, plus and all the desert sand blowing around, his wife didn’t have much of a chance of recognizing him from so far off even with her high-tech binoculars._

_“He’ll blow the charges.” Jane was saying as the camera went back to her as she quickly pulled some cords, and then relaxed a little. “Okay…” she brought her binoculars up once the charges weren’t going to go off too soon to study the unwelcome man again, just in time to catch him taking a piss. “You’ve gotta be kidding me…” She lowered the binoculars for a second to shake her head, so she didn’t see what he was taking out of his car. “ **Civilians** …”_

 

Oliver shifted just a little bit next to him, and when Tommy glanced at his friend he could see that the earlier sympathetic smile had turned into a little frown now. But it was directed at the movie, not any of them, and it probably had something to do with one of his many secrets…

 

Tommy was already in enough hot water with Laurel for the ones he was already not telling her, so he decided not to ask.

 

He _did_ wonder if assassins who weren’t tied to the government would actually call normal people ‘civilians,’ though. It wasn’t like they were federal agents or soldiers, after all. That wouldn’t make sense since they were going out of their way to kill one of their own for being caught by the government…

 

_The camera went back to John for a close-up of him pulling a huge rocket launcher out of his vehicle, clearly all ready-to-go since he said to himself just then, “Let’s get a tune out of this trombone.”_

_Just then Jane looked back at him with her high-tech binoculars, and a warning immediately went off as the tech seemed to recognize and zero in on the rocket-launcher._

_One of the women not on site abruptly reported, “Picking up a weapon’s signature.”_

_Jane stared through the binoculars at the man she didn’t know was her husband again for just a second before she dropped the binoculars and started searching for something else. “ **Shit**. Not a civilian.” When she turned around again she was readying a rifle to aim, unknowingly, at her husband._

_They were back with John in time to see him randomly pause and notice that he’d managed to mess up his boots earlier. “Aw, man…”_

_That was the exact moment when the camera went back to his wife as she said, “Asshole,” and pulled the trigger._

_Bang!_

_The semi-silenced shot didn’t scare the approaching convoy, but Jane’s bullet hit him dead-center, sending John immediately and resoundingly to the ground._

Laurel gasped, looking completely stunned for the whole second it took the lead male to recover. Though she had to know it was going to happen: the two ladies were the ones that’d seen the movie before.

 

Tommy wasn’t sure why it’d bother her so much anyway. What else would you expect from the situation the movie had outlined? Personally, he was just glad he wasn’t having another flashback to that still too recent night when his dad was shot and almost killed in front of him…

 

_Or_ right before that, on that same horrific night, when his dad had killed two men right in front of him—as coldly and calmly as he did just about everything else. Then again, _that_ was really what he’d flashed back to when they’d watch Mister Smith calmly shoot four men, three of whom he’d been playing cards with for a while before that. Not that he could tell anyone that. Not even Oliver and Felicity—and definitely not Laurel.

 

Laurel didn’t need to be worried about Pitt’s character, though. This was a romantic comedy, though, not a tragedy. So John Smith couldn’t be dead—that’d be too tragic for any rom-com to not ruin itself. So he was undoubtedly wearing a vest, just like Tommy’s dad had been that night. But just that fall would take anyone a second to recover from, never mind the force of the blow that caused it—whether it was a bullet caught by a bullet-proof vest or not. It’d take anyone a minute to catch their breath after being hit dead-center from a high-powered rifle like that…

 

_“Countdown is initiated,” one of Jane’s girls told her._

_And just then John had finally caught his breath, and immediately he rolled for cover, carrying the rocket-launcher with him and zeroing in on where the shot had come from right away. He aimed the weapon at his wife._

_Jane’s high tech gear warned her just in time for her to run out of the little metal shack before he fired at it._

_John stared at the completely hillside—where the shack-hideout had been completely obliterated—for a second before he glanced at the weapon that’d just done it and shook his head. “You should **so** not be allowed to buy these things…”_

_Just then the timers on Jane’s charges went off._

**_BOOM!_ **

_John dropped to the ground and curled into a ball as the area all around him exploded._

_While the feds rushed the target to safety, Jane sped off on what looked like a dirt bike as John investigated the burnt out remains of her temporary base to find the equally crispy remains of her laptop._

 

“Oh that poor computer,” Felicity whimpered, just barely loud enough for everyone else to hear. She looked honestly hurt by the sight of it, but he barely glanced at her in time to see it because the look fell away with a sigh as soon as Ollie gave her a gentle squeeze and pressed a kiss into her hair.

 

It was cute and sweet in a way he never would’ve expected the fearsome Hood could ever be—even _after_ learning that said vigilante was his childhood best friend somehow turned into a scary killing-machine.

 

But still, Tommy was really starting to wish Laurel hadn’t decided to force this movie on them all. Because, while it was a good movie, the main characters’ relationship would undoubtedly become even more of a focal point once they realized they were both married to another assassin—and that was the main issue at the moment.

 

That they didn’t know.

 

They were both keeping secrets that they didn’t talk about.

 

That they couldn’t talk about.

 

That’s why this part of the movie—where Jane and John Smith were going to find out that their significant other was also an assassin—had to happen. And it really was starting to hit a little too close to home, which was probably why Laurel was so determined to make them all watch it now. Not that she could know that Ollie’s secret was the core problem right now, or that it was bizarrely pretty close to the movie’s central dilemma, too…

 

_“I think I got I.D’d on that hit.” John was saying in the next scene. “You ever been I.D’d on a hit?”_

_He and his friend—Eddie, who was apparently also an assassin that worked with or maybe for John—were sitting at the bar of a little diner back in the city._

_“Not that I’m aware of, no,” Eddie shook his head._

_“Right,” John sighed. “I’m in trouble.”_

_“You get a look at him?” his friend asked._

_And John nodded. “Little thing. Buck ten, buck fifteen tops.”_

_Eddie blinked then hazarded, “Maybe he’s Filipino?”_

_John grimaced, before admitting, “I’m not even sure it was a him.”_

_His friend blinked at him again, before clarifying, “You saying that you had your ass handed to you by some girl?”_

_“I think so,” John nodded, not seeming too disturbed by that despite his earlier grimace at having to admit it. “A pro.”_

_“Well, it shouldn’t be that difficult. I mean, how many chicks are hitters out there?” Eddie reasoned barely a second before their waitress returned._

 

While the other supposed assassin—who also provided the movie’s comic relief when the leads were being too serious—flirted with the waitress, Tommy couldn’t help but glance between Pitt’s character and his own best friend.

 

Because despite the role he sometimes played simply because it was easier to laugh at the world, Tommy wasn’t stupid. He’d had a sense, months ago, that Ollie was holding a lot back after he’d returned from the dead. Tommy had just assumed it was stuff to do with the island the poor man had spent half a decade stuck on and left it at that.

 

But after finding out Oliver was the city’s crazy vigilante, some of that act had dropped around him—some of the time, anyway—and Tommy still wasn’t honestly sure what to do with the much more serious man that the absence of all that superficial ‘Ollie Queen’ had left behind.

 

He still didn’t know what to make of what his friend had become most of the time. In fact, if he hadn’t seen the way the other man really did soften—relaxing and even _smiling_ —around the blonde that was sitting on his other side right now, he’s not sure he would’ve been able to accept those changes at all.

 

Truth be told, Felicity Smoak had helped him—really Oliver and Tommy both—out a lot in that regard. And it wasn’t just because Oliver’s all too clear interest in her reassured his wary childhood friend he really didn’t want to make up with Laurel anymore. There was some of that, especially with all the times the lawyer had already worked with the vigilante for some reason or another—that Oliver had approached her at all wasn’t surprising, but it made it harder to trust that he really was okay with the fact that his ex-girlfriend was now dating his best friend and he wasn’t going to do anything about it.

 

So Oliver seriously dating someone else—someone he very clearly cared for—did help Tommy trust him a lot more than the idea that the other man was hooking up with Russian models had. _That_ had made a kind of sense to Tommy, too, when he’d thought his friend and fellow playboy was diving into the party scene after too long away from parties and girls, but it hadn’t been even close to reassuring. Oliver’s relationship with Felicity Smoak, however, was reassuring—because it was real. And there was trust there.

 

What’s more, it was the simple fact that—somehow—despite knowing more about Oliver Queen now than Tommy did, she stilled _trusted_ him. Felicity _trusted_ Oliver enough to tuck herself under his arm and lean against him while watching a movie; like it didn’t matter that those intimidating arms and shoulders had broken bones and killed people, too…

 

_“Perfect,” Eddie grinned after the waitress as she left before he looked back at his friend, who’d ignored the entire exchange. “‘Could be arranged.’ You hear that? I’d like to have her kick my ass, know what I mean?” Seeing his friend wasn’t paying any attention to him he shook his head. “Any other details besides her weight class?”_

_“Laptop,” John answered immediately._

_“Sorry?” Eddie blinked at him yet again. “You’re in a whole zone right now—”_

_“Laptop,” John said again and his friend raised his hands._

_“Okay,” Eddie nodded. “Laptop.”_

 

Yeah, the time or two Tommy had happened to see Oliver geared up as the vigilante again—namely when he’d caught that bitch holding Tommy himself hostage in the basement and the time he’d been down there chatting with Felicity while Oliver was out under the Hood—Oliver had seemed a lot more like the scarily focused John Smith than Ollie Queen blasting back from the past…

 

_“I want to know who that bitch is!” Jane was outright snarling as she stormed back into her main office, another woman running after her trying to treat her injuries. “Get me that tape!”_

_“Jane,” an as-yet-unnamed brunette tried to get her attention._

_“ **Get me** that tape!” Jane demanded again, just in case it wasn’t clear the first time._

_“Jane.” The brunette tried again._

_The leading lady finally turned to her friend and snapped, “ **What?** ”_

_“It’s Father,” the woman told her seriously, indicating the phone she was holding._

_Jane closed her eyes as she accepted it, took a deep breath, then brought the phone up to her ear. “The F.B.I secured the package. The window is closed, sir.”_

 

“F.B.I?” Tommy frowned at the screen. “I thought it was the D.E.A?”

 

“D.E.A handing off to F.B.I, I think,” Felicity replied, then shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter either way. Whether they’re either federal agency or not—their role is really just red shirts here.”

 

“Red shirts?” Laurel blinked at her.

 

But Tommy got it straight away. “You mean like from _Star Trek_ , right?” he asked, and he couldn’t help but grin at her.

 

He knew the girl was beyond bright—beyond even brilliant, maybe—but the idea that Ollie Queen had fallen head over heels for a total geek was just too much for words…

 

Then again, Tommy couldn’t blame him either.

 

As he looked back at the movie it was in time to hear the same filtered boss-man’s voice from before.

_“You know the rules,” the man who was apparently called ‘Father’ reminded her, sounding as unhappy as the assassin looked. “You have forty-eight hours to clean the scene, Jane.”_

_“Looking forward to it, sir,” Jane bit out, then hung up and looked around at all the other women who were watching her worriedly. “All right, we have a new target. Let’s find out who he is.”_

_Then the scene switched from the immaculate penthouse office space to what looked like a messy garaged, packed full of just about all the pieces of machinery that could possibly fit into it._

_“Jesus…” a new woman was looking over the burnt up laptop John had brought back from the desert. “What did you **do** to it? Put a campfire out with it?” she asked him, then shook her head as she looked up at him again to tell him point-blank, “Buy a new one.”_

_John immediately shook his head. “This one has sentimental value for its owner.”_

_“Who’s that?” the brunette asked him._

_John just smiled back, “Well, Gwen, I was hoping you can tell me.”_

_Gwen shook her head, but started fiddling with the incinerated laptop case anyway as she asked him almost off-hand. “So, why you gotta know so bad, anyway?”_

_“You know me,” John shrugged as he looked around the messy little garage she worked in. “Just trying to return some lost property.”_

Felicity and Oliver both actually snorting in unison drew Tommy’s eyes to them in surprise, and he somehow wasn’t at all shocked to see Oliver meeting the blonde’s eyes with a big grin that she was returning right back at him. It looked like they may’ve been suppressing their laughter for a while, probably since the scene started.

 

“Hey, he could’ve said it was a latte,” Oliver pointed out to her.

 

“The campfire would’ve been a better story,” Felicity rolled her eyes as she finished, “For him.” But she was still grinning, too.

 

“What’re you two talking about?” Laurel asked them, not even trying to hide the bewilderment that was as plain in her voice as it was on her face.

 

“Sorry.” Felicity shook her head, still smiling a little as she answered, “It’s an inside joke.”

 

It took Tommy that second to remember what the pair had told them about how they’d met, “This about that laptop Ollie brought you at Q.C?” he asked, and it only occurred to him now that maybe there was a lot more behind that story than these two had told them.

 

Given the significant looks and everything they understandably didn’t talk to their friends about in general, maybe there was a _lot_ more to do with that story. A lot more to do with their vigilantism, obviously.

 

“Something like that, yeah,” Felicity told him, her smile never slipping. “But you really had to be there to get it. Sorry.”

 

“Okay,” Tommy accepted that, and he was glad to see Laurel looking back at the movie again, because he really didn’t want her to keep pressing if it had anything to do with Oliver’s bigger than big secret that was already a big problem anyway…

 

Tommy himself, however, found himself studying the blonde that was still so clearly comfortable in his friend’s arms much more than watching the movie right now. Because that little exchange had made him realize something he really hadn’t thought about before.

 

That maybe the big leaps forward Oliver was able to take with Felicity was really because she knew his big secret. Probably not all his secrets, because Jane Smith may have said it defensively to her marriage counselor earlier, but that didn’t make it any less true: everybody _did_ have secrets. Oliver Queen had some more massive ones than most, but since he’d somehow already let Felicity Smoak find out about the biggest one maybe that just made it easier to let her in? Ollie did definitely trust her, and to be fair it definitely seemed to be deserved…

 

_“You a vegan?” John’s question to the tech seemed completely random, but the girl responded easily._

_“Nope. My girlfriend is,” Gwen said, clearly still focused on the laptop she was working on. “Here we go. Upgraded RAM module.” She tapped away a few times with her mouse. “Chip’s Chinese. Imported by Dynamix. Retailed by… You know, I might be able to get you a billing address.”_

_John came back around to look over her shoulder, where they could see most of her screen was dominated by information all in Chinese characters. “All right?”_

_A few more clicks of her mouse and then some of the symbols changed to English all of a sudden and Gwen told him, “No name, just an address. Five-seventy Lexington Avenue, Suite 5003, New York.” She looked up at him then, in time to catch the startled look on his face. “You know the place?”_

_The scene cut away without John answering her, to show him walking warily into the lobby of the building his wife worked in. He went over to the side of the lobby and kept watching the security guards by the elevators for a long moment, before he finally looked at the building directory, his finger trailing from the listing he was looking for to the name of its owner._

_[PIC = John finds out]_

_For a second the poor man could only stare at the name his finger had just found, and then he swore under his breath. “Sweet Jesus! Mother of God…” he backed a step away from the directory as dramatic music played, and he kept blinking at it and shaking his head, like either one could possibly help him completely process the realization he had to deal with now._

 

“Well, now he knows,” Tommy observed, more fascinated with the idea now that the big bid secrets were all coming out. Maybe the appeal of it all was the idea of the relief of it all—the relief he knew he’d had to feel once he wasn’t hiding anything anymore—even though these were the insane secrets that Laurel didn’t know. The secrets were comparable…

 

He pretended not to notice the look Laurel sent his way—not quite frowning, but pursing her lips like she had to do that to keep from frowning. She didn’t say anything though so they all just kept watching the movie…

_“Why don’t you both go make some coffee,” Jane said to the two girls that were working on the images that’d come back from her binoculars earlier. It was an order, not a question, and both women knew it so they hurried to obey._

_The assassin took one of the seats as soon as it was free, squinting closely of the image of the man she didn’t know was her husband from behind while he was taking a leak. She kept studying it for several long seconds, ignoring everything else around her at the same time._

_“Jane,” her friend and primary assistant’s voice called suddenly. “It’s your husband.”_

_Jane blinked and studied the image even more closely as the other woman’s words made her suddenly realize why the man she was studying looked so very familiar to her._

_“He’s back from Atlanta,” Jas went on, and the camera went. “And he wants to know about dinner?”_

_“Tell him…” the decision seemed to occur on the assassin’s face just then as she finally looked at her friend and answered simply, “Dinner’s at seven.”_

_The scene immediately switched back down to the lobby where John had his mobile phone pressed to his ear._

_“Hi, John!” the secretary’s over-bright response dimmed only a little as she told him, “Yeah, she says dinner’s at seven.”_

_“It always is,” John replied with a grin as he turned and left the building._

 

"And now she knows, too," Laurel said with a pleased smirk.

 

Tommy didn’t let himself sigh, but again he really couldn’t help but wonder what exactly his girlfriend wanted to get out of this.

 

Oliver, he knew, had only gone along with it because Felicity hadn’t minded and he hadn’t wanted it to become an issue between his friends.

 

But what did Laurel _want_ from him here?

 

Total honesty?

 

No secrets whatsoever?

 

Even _if_ Tommy could get away with just telling her that the major secret he was keeping was Oliver’s, not his—it wasn’t like she hadn’t kept more than a few major secrets of her own. He hadn’t had any idea she was working with the Hood until an infamous master-criminal had kidnapped and threatened to kill her unless the vigilante handed himself over. The memory of that bastard’s voice and what’d he’d threatened to do would haunt Tommy till his dying day.

_“Make sure this message finds its way to the Vigilante. Do it fast. Because at sunrise, I’m going to leave pieces of this girl all over Starling City unless he pays me a little visit. You know, gives us a chance to get to know each other better…_

 

It wasn’t any wonder that Detective Lance hadn’t hesitated to work with the very man he’d spent months hunting in order to save her. What was a shock was that Laurel hadn’t even seemed to think she needed to apologize for any of it, and now she was holding the secrets he _had_ to keep against him. Tommy honestly had more issues with that then he did with the fact that Oliver—as the Hood—had had anything to do with Laurel at all.

 

But, after that moment more of those unhappy thoughts, Tommy told himself to just focus on watching the movie—it _wasn’t_ a bad movie, after all—and try to just enjoy it instead of thinking too much about it…

 

Watching John Smith slowly pull into his house’s driveway, for some reason arriving after his wife was almost comical now that the man knew his wife was a dangerous assassin, too. Then again, Tommy still tensed sometimes around his best friend when he remembered just how dangerous the other man was now, even though he knew Ollie would never choose to hurt him…

_“Perfect timing,” Jane greeted her husband with a smile, offering him one of the two martinis she was holding._

_“As always,” John acknowledged as he accepted the drink and followed her into the dining room. “This is a nice surprise,” he told his wife._

_“I hope so,” Jane responded sweetly, and then commented, “You’re home early.”_

_“I missed you,” he told her._

_“Oh, I missed you, too,” she responded right away, even as she gestured towards the dining room. “Shall we?”_

_“Yes,” John nodded immediately, and followed her through the kitchen. After a glance as some of the highly toxic household items that were easily on hand, however, he dumped the drink into one of the fake planters they were walking by in the hallway before he took the final few steps into the dining room and saw the fine china laid out on the table. “Thought these were for special occasions?”_

_“This is a special occasion,” his wife told him with a smile as she pointedly pulled out his out for him._

_And to that John Smith could only offer a nervous grin, as he didn’t want to ask just what that special occasion was on the off chance his wife wasn’t another assassin who had to be set on killing him now and he’d forgotten their anniversary or something like that. So he just sat down, still watching her warily as he set his emptied martini glass down._

_Jane immediately reached for the toothpick that was still in it and put the olive he hadn’t bothered to eat in her own mouth. So the martini wasn’t poisoned._

_John still just watched her as she went back into the kitchen, and then came back out a moment later with a familiar meal entrée._

 

And all Tommy could think was that maybe, just maybe, the title pair really did have it worse than him. Sure his best friend was a scary vigilante that some in the city hated, but more and more people seemed to be coming over to the idea that maybe he was a hero with each heroic act he managed pushing the memories of people he’d killed in the past seemingly out of the public mind.

 

And at least he hadn’t found out Laurel was actually some master-assassin maybe out to kill his father after the other ones had failed, or something like that…

_“Pot roast. My favorite,” John acknowledged as she set it in the center of the table. When she expertly sharpened the knife she’d also brought out, however, he leapt to his feet again. “Allow me, sweetheart,” he insisted, wrapping his arms around her and taking a firm hold of the big knife. “You’ve been on your feet all day.”_

_“Thank you,” Jane nodded, taking off her cooking apron and heading into the kitchen even as he cut the meat._

_“Sure,” John nodded as he put the cuts of meat on each of their plates. “So how was work?”_

_“Actually, we had a little trouble with a commission.”_

_“Is that right?”_

_“Yeah,” Jane nodded. “Double booking with another firm.” She explained as he took his seat again and she picked another bowl up off the table and walked towards him with it._

_To which John could only grimace._

_“Green beans?”_

_“No, thank you,” John answered immediately._

_“You’ll have some,” his wife told him firmly, and put a big spoonful onto his plate._

_Her husband watched her walk back to her seat at the other head of the table. “Well, I hope everything works out okay.”_

_“It hasn’t yet,” Jane looked back at him as she finished. “But it will.”_

_John nodded and picked up his silverware to start on his steak. “Prime rib is my favorite,” he said again as he cut his first bite about at slowly as he possibly could. “Sweetheart, could you pass the…salt?” he blinked and then offered her a grin as he saw that they each had their own salt and pepper shakers in front of their settings now._

_Jane only smiled back._

_“Tried something new?” John asked her even as he finally put that first bite of steak in his mouth and started to chew on it._

_“Um-hum,” Jane nodded, still smiling as she started to eat her green beans, not her steak._

_And it was clearly scaring her husband, who could only just manage to swallow—or pretend to swallow?—the bite he’d just taken._

 

It was an act Tommy was positive he wouldn’t be able to manage. Actually he doubted he could’ve even made himself come all the way home… then again if it was Laurel and they’d been married for five or six years maybe he could.

 

Maybe.

 

_“How was Atlanta?” Jane asked then._

_“Had a few problems ourselves,” John told her just as honestly as he wiped his mouth and maybe spat out his bite of steak because whether it was his favorite dinner or not, he didn’t want it to be his last. “Some figures didn’t add up.”_

_“Big deal?” Jane asked as he got up and grabbed the already open bottle of wine to carry it to her end of the table._

_“Life or death,” John nodded, and then asked her, “Wine?”_

_She nodded, and he filled the glass in front of her, looking at her plate while he watched her._

_When he finished pouring the glass and leaned back, before he clearly deliberately dropped the bottle in her peripheral vision._

_Jane caught it._

_Then their eyes locked, both clearly startled with the realization that the other one knew the truth, too._

_After that second of realization, Jane dropped the bottle, letting the red wine spill out over their nice white carpet._

_And both assassins darted away from each other._

_“I’ve got it,” John insisted as he headed for the nearest doorway._

_“I’ll get a towel,” Jane said as she hurried across the room and into the kitchen._

 

“Now, really, that’s just a waste of red wine,” Felicity opined with a pout that Tommy had to laugh at despite all the dramatic tension radiating from the television screen.

 

“Yes, it is,” Laurel agreed with an amused snort of her own.

 

“Why is her catching the wine’s supposed to be a big deal?” Tommy wondered, shaking his head. “I mean, why would he even test her that way?”

 

“It’s probably supposed to show she has killer reflexes, something like that,” Felicity shrugged. “And they couldn’t really just keep dragging the dinner out like that, could they?”

 

“Still doesn’t make sense,” Tommy complained.

 

“Neither does John going straight for his gun,” Laurel pointed out as they watched the now armed man notice his wife was leaving.

 

“No,” Felicity agreed, “Jane jumping in her car makes more sense.”

 

Tommy couldn’t disagree with that, and Oliver seemed to be staying stubbornly silent right now, though it looked like his arm had gotten a little tighter around Felicity but since she wasn’t saying anything he couldn’t really be sure…

_“Jane!” John was calling as he ran after her car, cutting through neighbors yards as she sped through the neighborhood’s streets. “Jane!”_

_Meanwhile, in the car, Jane was shaking her head in disbelief. “How could I be so stupid?”_

_“Jane!” John kept calling as he kept missing her at various turns, then he tripped on something and fell into a white picket fence—causing his gun to fire._

_The bullet went straight through the center of her windshield, and Jane slammed on her breaks as she stared at the hole it’d left behind._

_“Oh, dear God…” John muttered as he dragged himself out of the broken white picket fence to get to his feet and walk out into the road in front of her car._

_Jane looked at him and the gun he wasn’t pointing at her anymore, and started to look really, really angry._

_“Wait. No, no. Accident,” John insisted. “Accident.”_

_Jane just hit the gas and started speeding straight towards him._

_“Jane, stop the car, now.” John tried to tell her, and just barely managed to jump in time to avoid being run over, leading to him instead ending up on the hood of her car. “Jane? You’re overreacting,” he tried to tell her as he looked in through the top of the windshield._

_Jane angrily punched the roof of her car as he kept going._

_“We don’t want to go to sleep angry.” John kept trying. “We can talk this out.”_

 

Felicity actually started giggling outright at that, and it made the others all grin, too. Though their eyes stayed locked on the screen as the dramatic action sequence played out.

 

_Jane started swerving the car._

_“God!” John yelled as he had to struggle to hang on. “Pull over! Pull over!”_

_Jane ignored him, until he somehow managed to throw himself through one of the back windows into the backseat._

_“Now, look…” John started to tell her, only to blink as she opened her door and threw herself out of the car._

_Jane rolled to a stop in the street and got up to watch her husband somehow appear in the rear windshield of her soon-to-crash car._

_“We need to talk!” John insisted._

_Then the car went off the road, disappearing into a bunch of bushes and taking him with it for now…_

 

"Well, that went well," Felicity actually snorted, and Oliver grinning at the girl in his arms was almost as adorable as she was.

 

Tommy barely thought about it as he reached for the remote and hit pause. “Did that make sense to anyone?” he wondered.

 

“Not really,” Oliver shrugged. “Not sure it was supposed to.”

 

“You’ll have to be a little more specific,” Felicity told him. “Kind of a lot just happened.”

 

“ _All_ of it,” Tommy insisted, shaking his head. “I mean the wine and the gun and the car and… all of it?”

 

“Jane running still makes sense to me,” the blonde answered. “It makes sense since she just realized that not only is John also an assassin but he knows she is, too.”

 

“But she already knew that.”

 

“No, she knew that he was another assassin,” Oliver agreed before his girlfriend could try to clarify again. “Not that he knew she was one, too,” he shrugged. “Kind of makes a difference.”

 

“She could’ve assumed she was still safe around him,” Laurel agreed. “Until she knew he knew, too.” She shook her head. “And he did go grab his gun as soon as he knew, so her instinct to flee wasn’t wrong.”

 

“Well that just goes back to the stupid bottle drop thing not making sense,” Tommy complained, hoping he didn’t sound like he was whining but not really minding when it had his girlfriend grinning in real amusement in what felt like the first time in a long while. A real long while.

 

“What I find more interesting,” Felicity went on then. “Is that John’s first instinct once all of this comes to light is he wants to talk about it.”

 

“No,” Laurel objected, her earlier grin falling into a slightly confused frown. “His first instinct was to go grab his gun.”

 

“But he came home, and when she sped out of the driveway he ran after her,” Felicity shrugged and added, “The gun’s probably his security blanket.”

 

“Probably saved his life more than once,” Oliver agreed, before pointing out, “And he did just spend that whole dinner thinking she was going to poison or knife him.”

 

“Right,” the blonde nodded. “But even when he grabbed his gun, he was still trying to talk to her.”

 

Oliver grimaced at that. “Or he was just trying to make sure he knew where she was.” He shook his head. “I mean, yeah he ran after her and wanted to talk when he knew she was running away, but—”

 

“But bringing work home is never easy for anyone, not when home is supposed to be about safety and comfort,” Felicity insisted, leaning away from him enough to crane her neck back so she could meet his gaze. “And this is a huge, dangerous secret that they’ve both been avoiding for five or six years.” She waived her hands a little for emphasis. “So Jane running from it makes even more sense than John wanting to talk about it does. Maybe not logically, but emotionally it definitely does.”

 

Oliver had clearly been struggling not to grin down at his girlfriend as soon as she’d looked up at him like that, so not surprisingly the hand waiving thing had done him in. But his voice was a mixture of serious and curious as he asked her, “So John running after her and wanting to talk is a good thing?”

 

Tommy had to admit the blonde looked absurdly cute as she blinked up at his best friend then, but the question also had him looking over at Laurel again then.

 

His girlfriend was watching the exchange between the other couple with the same sad but fond look she’d had aimed at them earlier. But Laurel offered him a slightly warmer smile when she noticed him watching her now, but she didn’t say anything as the other woman finally answered their friend.

 

“Well, yeah?” Felicity answered. “That’s obvious, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah, it is,” Laurel answered her before Ollie could. Then she shook her head when everyone looked at her again. “I’m not sure it necessarily makes sense, but it is a good thing.”

 

At that, Tommy could only swallow, and silently hope that maybe that meant their relationship wasn’t necessarily spiraling towards inevitable destruction…

* * *

_Next is Laurel’s POV… which I haven’t managed to name just yet. I’m alternating between 2 different possibilities: Don’t Love Him or The Problem With Love. Either one works, but I’ll probably end up going with the first one because like the other titles it’s straight from the movie..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there’s part 2! You may notice I’ve decided this needs 5 parts—it’s not really going to be that much longer than I initially planned, but I decided I wanted to go back to Oliver’s POV again at the end, so he gets another part.  
> Okay, some points from within this segment:  
> As I said in the last post Gina & Robert are a canon couple of Immortals in Highlander. Like basically everyone in the show who didn’t live in Seacouver, Washington they lived near Paris. Because the show either filmed in Washington or in Paris for their modern-day context, and only very rarely anywhere else. However, this is a number of years later and I decided the couple had moved to Italy and slightly changed their names with the move because it’s the type of thing one of Felicitas students—or Methos’s grand-students—would do. So they now live under the Italian version of their surname in Italy and happen to sell wine to an Italian restaurant in Starling City. That that’s a restaurant Felicity frequents is probably no coincidence… Per Wikipedia: “Abruzzo (Abruzzi) is an Italian wine region located in the mountainous central Italian region of Abruzzo along the Adriatic Sea… Abruzzo’s rugged terrain, 65% of which is mountainous, helped to isolate the region from the winemaking influence of the ancient Romans and Etruscans in Tuscany but the area has had a long history of wine production… [It’s] the 7th most productive region in Italy... Together with Trebbiano d’Abruzzo, Montepulicano d’Abruzzo is one of the most widely exported [wines] from Italy, particularly to the United States… According to wine experts… a ‘good part’ of many ‘better-regarded’ French and northern Italian wines come from Abruzzo.” That—and some more time spent browsing on Wikipedia—is the extent of my knowledge of the region, but it sounded perfect for a place the couple might’ve moved to that might also have contact with an Italian restaurant in Starling City. So, there it is.  
> Semi-random note: Does anyone happy to know why there would be these creepy dolls around in Mr. & Mrs. Smith? I'd spotted the one in the shack Jane uses in the desert before, but there was one with the computer girl that John went to, too. So now I'm wondering if there's an underlying theme there that I'm missing... But I can't get over the fact that the dolls remind me of Chucky, and I never watched those movies because the doll itself was too creepy in the pictures. *shudders* So, thoughts et all would be appreciated.  
> And last, but certainly not least: to anyone who hasn't seen Wonder Woman--See it! It's well worth it. More than. It's wonderful. Amazing. Any other word to describe what has to be one of best superhero movies out there. IMHO anyway. Really, as someone who loved Linda Carter's Wonder Woman, I won't say this was better. But its definitely more modernized--even set in WWI--and the fight scenes were MUCH more realistic. I don't think anyone could've done a better job. Gal Gadot was perfect. Chris Pine was fabulous. And Patty Jenkins obviously did a wonderful job directing it because the fight scenes were fantastic, the dialogue was excellent, there's emotion, comedy, and drama all packed into a movie that while long will hold onto you for every single minute. So, seriously, see it. And I'm not just saying that because I'd been waiting for this movie to come out so I could sort in my head where it might fight into this series or not. ;-)  
> Thanks for reading & more come soon! :-)


	3. You Don’t Love Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And here’s the next part! Considering my muses originally only planned on this being a 1-shot and I’m really just writing it as I go, it’s coming along pretty well now. :-)  
> Enjoy! :-D

_ Laurel Lances’s P.O.V. _

 

The next scene was not another action-packed clash between the title couple, and Laurel couldn’t help but find that fact reassuring even though she didn’t like John’s best friend at all. Eddie would be irritating even if he didn’t remind her of how Tommy used to be Ollie’s ever-encouraging wingman even when she and Ollie were supposedly going steady. But there was no resemblance between them—it was just the general attitude the reminded and grated—so she could mostly ignore it and just be grateful that they were getting a bit of a breather right now.

 

She knew there’d be plenty more of all that coming, anyway, and somehow all of the action was more unnerving now. _Much_ more unnerving than she remembered it being when she was watching it with her sister. Back then she and Sara had cheered and laughed what’d seemed like the whole way through.

 

But at a _lot_ had happened since then…

 

Sara was dead now.

 

Ollie was back from the dead.

 

And Laurel was angry at Tommy for not being truthful with her.

 

Making everyone watch this movie had seemed like a great idea. Earlier tonight, anyway, but now—as she could see all too clearly just how much the deadly couple _hated_ fighting with each other even when each one thought the other one was trying to kill them—she wasn’t so sure…

 

_“It’s **unbelievable** …” John shook his head, clearly going over all the craziness his life had turned into and not finding any more sanity hidden amongst it yet._

_“Look, I know exactly what you’re thinking. If she lied about that, what else has she lied about?” Eddie leaned forward as he went on. “I mean, her job is a spy, to get information from people. French Riviera. A yacht. An Iranian prince. She’s supposed to get close to him and gain his trust…” he shook his head. “It’s disgusting.”_

_“What?” John blinked at him. “What are you saying?”_

 

Laurel tried to stomach the fact that the irritating wanna-be-playboy best friend’s thoughts on what other secrets John’s significant other might be hiding ran more in line with her own concerns than Pitt’s characters own bafflement at the very idea did. That incredulous look he’d instantly worn at the suggestion simply wasn’t one she thought she could manage when it came to her boyfriend anymore. Which was Ollie’s fault, not Tommy’s, and so it was entirely unfair of her towards her current boyfriend, but that didn’t make it any less true. She couldn’t change who her own past had made her anymore than they could.

 

Ollie and Tommy were both infamous playboys in the past. Sure, she and Ollie were dating semi-steadily enough back then for her to bring up moving in together without realizing that the very suggestion would driving him away, but she’d known who he was back then. He liked to party and she did, too. He liked girls, but he loved her, and every time he apologized she told herself she was okay with that. Then he’d taken Sara onto that damn boat trip, betraying her and killing her sister in one fell swoop—something she couldn’t remotely forgive even though she sometimes wanted to.

 

Tommy, on the other hand, seemed to adore her. He played the part—catering to her interests and caring about what she cared about—better than Ollie ever had. Though Ollie, it seemed, may have been forced to grown up on that horrible island. Tommy had managed to grow up, too—and he’d already decided to before his father cut him off so that wasn’t the catalyst. He’d decided he wanted to be a better man for her. And she _wanted_ to trust that.

 

But while both men had now supposedly put their pasts behind them to enter in committed relationships, those pasts weren’t so very long ago. For Tommy, after all, it was only a matter of months since they agreed to see each other exclusively—before that he’d been hitting the party scene as hard as ever. Sure, he couldn’t do that these days, since his dad had cut him off and he actually needed the job Ollie had given him, but she still couldn’t shake the fear that he might want to go back to all the fun he used to have. That maybe eventually their ‘different’ and memorable moments would all start to blur together and seem a lot less important to him… and then she’d end up with her heart in a hundred pieces again.

 

Because Laurel could _not_ be the loyal girlfriend that kept taking her cheating ex back again and again no matter what. She just couldn’t. She really wasn’t sure if that meant she used to be a better person or not, but there was only so much one person could take…

 

_“ **What?** Your **husband** is the **shooter?** ” Jas shook her head back at the I-Temp office, which was empty of everyone except them. “That’s impossible.”_

_Jane finished throwing back a shot of Johnny Walker Red before looking back at her. “Really?” she said a bit bitterly, making no move to get up from the floor._

_Then they switched back to Eddie again. “This was probably planned from the beginning. Operation Stakeout Johnny…”_

 

“That makes no sense,” Oliver commented as the idiot friend rambled on. “If she was spying on him because she knew he was an assassin they wouldn’t have ended up trying to kill the same guy.”

 

“It’s a movie, Oliver,” Felicity shook her head. “It’s not necessary supposed to make sense.”

 

“Most movies don’t,” Tommy agreed.

 

Laurel only kept watching the movie, because she certainly wasn’t going to say anything about some of this making way too much sense to her…

 

_“Okay,” Jas said as she slowly accepted this change in their lives, adjusting to the fact that the man whose phone calls she’d always had to answer with a bright smile was actually a threat now. Nor just Jane’s hot but ignorant husband. “Here’s the upside. You don’t love him.”_

_Jade made herself say, “No.” Then she downed started on the glass of scotch that had to have been refilled since she last finished it—though it was a lot bigger than just a shot._

_“You’ll kill him,” Jas told her with a nod. “And nobody’s better at that than you are.”_

_“…Thank you,” Jane answered quietly, looking no more convinced now than she had earlier._

_Jas nodded again. “And then it’ll be over.”_

_That only made Jane finish off her scotch again._

 

Over…

 

Laurel winced at the word, because if there was one thing she really didn’t want, it was that.

 

She didn’t want to end things with Tommy.

 

She didn’t want their relationship to be over.

 

But she also didn’t think they could move forward if they weren’t honest with each other.

 

Accepting the secrets and forgiving both the dishonesty and screw-ups hadn’t gotten her anywhere good with Ollie. It’d just meant fights and tears that she’d like to think they might’ve been able to avoid with a little honesty. And ultimately it’d just led to heartbreak, her sister dead, and then half a decade spent wondering ‘what if’ and ‘what’d she done wrong?’

 

Laurel was trying to move on from all of that now. With Tommy.

 

Honesty wasn’t too much to ask for… was it?

 

_“You okay?” Jas asked as she walked up the stairs out of the office._

_“Yeah,” Jane called back._

_“Okay. Good night.”_

_“Night,” the assassin replied, turning away once the sound of the doors opening and closing meant her friend and secretary had gone into the special elevator that’d take her out of the penthouse office. She laid there in silence, somehow not reaching for the half empty bottle of booze as she told herself, “You **don’t** love him.”_

_She didn’t sound anymore convinced of that then she looked…_

_And as the movie went back to John, who was bedding down for the night on his friend’s couch as said friend bid him and his elderly mother goodnight. He didn’t look like he was all that eager to end things with his wife either._

 

Because despite what people tried to tell themselves—and others—love was not simple at all. And it certainly wasn’t a simple matter matter of telling your heart what it was allowed to want. Let alone _who_. People might be able to avoid a lot of heartbreak and broken dreams if it were possible, but the world wasn’t that easy.

 

Laurel had learned that hard way. They _very_ hard way, really. It was a lesson she couldn’t wish on anyone, but she had learned it herself.

 

That didn’t mean the good fights weren’t worth fighting though. If there wasn’t some struggle in achieving something it was, in and of itself, an empty achievement. Real satisfaction came from that struggle making the end result a reality worth wanting.

 

Which was why setting goals as high as you thought you could go was entirely necessary—and in a relationship those expectations were even more vital. It had to be done.

 

Without honesty and trust Laurel knew she and Tommy couldn’t go anywhere. And the longer she let them drag out without drawing that line, the more they’d both be hurt in the end.

 

Yes, it was hard to watch Oliver and his new girlfriend here, still in the very early days of their new relationship where everything was fun and easy.

 

Fun and easy were what Ollie Queen was good at. Very, _very_ good at. He always had been. Combined with his good looks, money and very real charm, he was a heady mix for anyone. But he was with Felicity now.

 

And Laurel was with Tommy. She wanted to be happy with Tommy. And she had been, until he’d all but slapped her in the face with that lie about how he’d hurt his hand.

 

_Why_ would he even lie about that? It didn’t make any _sense!_

 

_The movie picked up with a scene the next morning of Jane and what appeared to be her whole office returning to her empty house._

_Once all the girls had followed Jane inside, Jas spared her friend only one concerned glance before she turned to the others and spoke authoritatively. “Okay, girls, let’s go. Pocket litter, receipts, matchbooks. You know the drill.”_

_All the women moved cautiously around the assassin they worked for, but they were quick to get to work all the same._

_After a moment Jane headed upstairs. She reached the top just in time to spot one of her girls’ tearing and stabbing into the big teddy bear that Jane herself had once won at a fair. The bear was definitely already dead, however, so Jane only sighed and kept going. But then she paused, frowning as she heard something and the scene switched to where some of the girls were watching a home video in the bedroom. Jane entered and glanced between the trio and the television before all but demanding. “What is this?”_

_All three women looked at her, but the blonde was the one that answered her right away, “It looks like your wedding.”_

_“I know what it is,” Jane kept staring at them. “What are you doing?_

_“Research,” the redhead spoke up this time. “Background on the target.”_

_“This is room is wrapped,” the assassin declared immediately, reaching for the remote the blonde was holding as the three obediently left the bedroom._

_Leaving Jane staring at the television just as they got to the vows._

_“…to have and to hold, to love and to cherish. Till death do us part. I promise,” the Jane in the video swore with a smile._

_The movie switched to showing the home video then, as John flipped his bride’s veil over her head so he could meet her eyes as he said his own vows._

_“I, John, take you, Jane, for my lawfully wedded wife. To have and to hold—”_

_Jane turned the television off, silently swallowing as that moment of intense nostalgia clearly got to her. She threw the remote down somewhere right away._

_Then she was outside as the scene switched to the assassin walking out of the house with a bag in one hand and the annihilated big bear she’d won at the fair under her other arm._

_“Well done, ladies,” Jasmine could be heard still directing the group from somewhere out of sight.“Let’s wrap it up!”_

_Jane meanwhile was focused on putting the bear in the trashcan by the street, but had to turn away from it as one of her neighbors’ kids asked her:_

_“What’s going on, Missus Smith?”_

_“Garden party, girls,” Jane told them with a professional smile that was probably only so warm because she was talking to children._

_“ **Oh** …” all three little girls chorused, nodding as if that made perfect sense as they turned back to watching all the ladies running in and out of the Smiths’ house with various bags._

 

Those girls wouldn’t expect her to lie to them. They were still children, and those sorts of suspicions just didn’t exist in their heads unless someone put them there—it was why ‘stranger danger’ was something that adults had to try so hard to drum in there: pushing just hard enough to keep them safe without scaring them. So that they were safe—not paranoid.

 

Once you’d lost that precious innocence, though, it couldn’t be brought back. That was why parents—any responsible adult really—also tried so hard to protect it as long as they possibly could.

 

That was why her father hated Ollie so much Laurel knew, and understood even though she wasn’t a little girl anymore and hadn’t been five years ago either. As her father always said, she’d _always_ be his little girl. And Ollie had hurt her, which was something her father couldn’t forgive.

 

Well, that was the second reason he hated Ollie so much. The first, of course, was for being the reason his baby was on that damn boat that she died on. But he hated for breaking his little girl’s heart, too…

_Dun-Dun-Dun-Dun-Dun…_

_Dun-Dun-Dun-Dun-Dun…_

_Da-da-dum—Da-da-dum—Da-da-dum…_

Laurel started abruptly as the sudden staccato of what sounded like a rock song starting from over by the kitchen counter startled all of them, and it was only as the vaguely familiar lyrics started that she realized the song was coming from a phone over on the counter.

 

Felicity’s phone, in fact, judging by how quickly the blonde jumped from Ollie’s arms to go answer it while Tommy paused the movie yet again. Although from the confused look on the other woman’s face it wasn’t her typical ringtone for anybody…

_I took a walk around the world_

_To ease my troubled mind…_

_I left my body lying somewhere_

_In the sands of time…_

_But I watched the world float_

_To the dark side of the moon._

_I feel there’s nothing I can do,_

_Yeah…_

 

“Don’t wanna answer it?” Tommy hazarded after they’d all listened to the loud lyrics and equally loud music accompanying them for at least half a minute now, at what had to be the device’s speaker’s full-volume.

 

“No, I’m trying,” Felicity responded, “It’s not working…” her obvious irritation was probably due in equal parts to that fact and because the loud music had to be even louder blaring out of the device that was in her hands…

_I watched the world float_

_To the dark side of the moon._

_After all, I knew it had to be,_

_Something to do with you._

“Not working?” Oliver repeated as he got up to follow her earlier path around the couch, going over to where she was scowling down at her device.

_I really don’t mind, what happens now and then,_

_As long as you’ll be my friend at the end!_

“Why wouldn’t it—”

 

“I think my brother’s trying to get back at me,” Felicity interrupted, and that made the frustrated but bemused look on her face suddenly make sense to all of them—as it would do anyone who had a sibling.

 

Or had, in Laurel’s case, since Sara was gone now—something she refused to let herself wince at now, choosing to draw instead from the fonder memories of similar times too long past now.

 

And in Tommy’s case the recognition would be from the pseudo-sibling he’d always had in Thea—but it was recognizable for all of them.

_If I go crazy then will you still_

_Call me Superman?_

_If I’m alive and well,_

_Will you be there a-holding my hand?_

_I’ll keep you by my side,_

_With my super-human might…_

_Kryptonite…_

“Your brother?” Oliver repeated, now looking like he was caught between being worried and amused, which was understandable given how serious the pair seemed to already be after only a few weeks dating.

 

That was so strange though. He was serious, but completely comfortable. In a way that Laurel honestly couldn’t remember Ollie ever being: because the boy he’d been half a decade ago was never ready to settle down, let alone willing—as the disaster he’d inadvertently killed her sister with had shown,

 

But Laurel forced herself to shake that thought off, too—as much as she ever could, anyway…

_You call me strong,_

_You’ve called me weak,_

_But still your secrets I will keep._

_You took for granted,_

_All the times,_

_I never let you down…_

_You stumbled in and_

_Bumped your head,_

_If not for me, then_

_You’d be dead._

_I picked you up and_

_And put you, back on solid ground!_

“Yes, my brother,” Felicity repeated with a sigh, dropping back down into her seat and automatically leaned into Oliver as soon he sat back down, too, so he wrapped his arm around her again. “ _Apparently_ he’s figured out the latest exploit I used on him, and now he’s turning it back on me…”

_If I go crazy then will you still_

_Call me Superman?_

_If I’m alive and well,_

_Will you be there a-holding my hand?_

_I’ll keep you by my side,_

_With my super-human might_

_Kryptonite…_

It took another repetition of the chorus for all three of them to make the connection to what she’d just said and what was happening now, but not surprising to either his best friend or his girlfriend, it was Tommy who got it first.

_Thrum-Thum-Thrum-Thum-Thrum_

“Wait, wait, wait! You mean you’re having a _prank_ - _war_ with your brother?” Tommy asked the tech genius, sounding so delighted Laurel and Oliver both couldn’t resist grinning just like he was.

_Da-da-dum—Da-da-dum—Da-da-dum…_

_Hum…_

Felicity rolled her eyes as she admitted, “Something like that…”

_If I go crazy then will you still_

_Call me Superman?_

_If I’m alive and well,_

_Will you be there holding my hand?_

_I’ll keep you by my side,_

_With my super-human might_

_Kryptonite!_

_Yeah!_

Listening to the powerful lyrics, and because she now knew the reason they were ringing through the room, Laurel found herself thinking about some of the more ridiculous things she and Sara used to get up to.

 

As annoy as her little sister had sometimes been, Laurel had still loved her—and always would. It went hand-in-hand with being her big sister.

 

She couldn’t forget those sleepy blue eyes blinking at her from a tiny pink face. Yes Laurel knew she’d only been two when her dad brought her into the hospital room to meet her new little sister, but while it was one of the earliest memories she had, it was still one she’d never, ever forget. Those bluer than blue eyes—that the doctors said might not stay blue, but they were wrong—blinking at her. And that teeny, tiny had curled around her finger…

 

The crazy little blue-eyed blonde girl that’d been trying to run after her big sis even before she first started walking—crawling along at speeds that’d amaze little Laurel at the time—and later running on after her into the party scenes when they were both still in high school.

 

It was after Sara was left on her own in high school—when Laurel had gone away to college—that a distance had started to grow between them. It was never obvious back then, but looking back it was obvious. And while it was only natural, growing up and moving on, Laurel knew her little sister had felt left behind. It was when she’d really started acting out, after all.

 

Laurel had to wonder, sometimes, if maybe she hadn’t tried hard enough. Because maybe if she’d tried just a little harder Sara wouldn’t have gotten on that boat with Ollie—wouldn’t have been willing to betray her big sister and wouldn’t be somewhere at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean now…

_If I go crazy then will you still_

_Call me Superman?_

_If I’m alive and well,_

_Will you be there holding my hand?_

_I’ll keep you by my side,_

_With my super-human…_

_My… Krypton-nite!_

“Do you think he’s really going to make us listen to the whole song before he actually talks to you?” Laurel wondered, still smiling in real amusement because it was pretty funny even with the memories of her lost little sister still dancing along the edges of her mind. Most of those memories, after all, were still happy ones—even if grief and doubt had dimmed some of the last days she’d spent with her sister in the end.

_Dun-Dun-Dun-Dun-Dun…_

_Da-da-dum—Da-da-dum—Da-da-dum…_

_Oh, whoa, whoa…_

_Oh, whoa, whoa…_

_Oh, whoa, whoa…_

“Oh yes, definitely,” Felicity rolled her eyes as the song rolled to its triumphant ending. “He’s going to make me listen to every single beat before he’ll actually talk to me.”

 

“ _Well, to be fair, little sister, you did start it,_ ” an unfamiliar voice came from the phone all of a sudden—before any of them had even realized the song had finally stopped blaring through.

 

Felicity immediately scowled at her phone, but that look dropped almost as quickly as it’d come—before she sighed and then let herself actually answer him. “I suppose I did,” she admitted with a sigh. “Good evening, Adam. You know, you’re interrupting my dinner party, brother dear.”

 

There was real affection in the blonde’s voice, not at all hidden by the slightly annoyed edge that any sibling would recognize the root reason behind even without the explanations they’d been given…

 

“ _Good evening, Felicity,_ ” her brother answered, and then added too flatly to sound at all apologetic: “ _So sorry._ ”

 

To which his sister actually laughed, and how real her laughter sounded was almost as sweet as the little smile it put on Ollie’s face as he mutely watched the blonde. “Does this mean I managed to catch you somewhere embarrassing before?” she asked him a few seconds later with the eagerness only a younger sibling could direct at their elder.

 

“ _You did,_ ” the man admitted without any noticeable hesitation. Undoubtedly because it was an admission he was expecting to have to make and was now just getting it over with, which also probably had a lot to do with why he’d made them listen to every beat of that song for his prank. At least it was a good song.

 

And the other older sibling’s resignedly amused acceptance brought back more fond memories of her baby sister, something that’d been hard for her to achieve since Sara had died while screwing with Ollie… And there was the bitter circle her mind almost always had to make. With a soft sigh, Laurel took another sip of wine.

 

“Good,” Felicity nodded decisively. “You deserved it even before this.”

 

“ _And I’ll deserve it next time, I’m sure,_ ” he agreed almost cheerfully.

 

Laurel was still smiling as she listened to the exchange, though her gaze now went to watching Ollie.

 

His eyes had seemed to be locked onto the blonde more than the movie all evening, though she’d caught him glancing between her and Tommy occasionally. It was understandable, though, because that was the way Ollie was. Even if it had her remembering not just her dead little sister but also what that seemingly undivided attention of her ex-boyfriend’s used to feel like, which wasn’t at all a thought combination she wanted to have these days either.

 

“Will you tell me why you’re calling now, Adam?” Felicity finally just asked him, then quickly added, “Other than to get back at me for my prank, I mean?”

 

“ _Well, you said I should call before I visit. Only polite, right?_ ”

 

The scowl she hadn’t let herself talk to him with before suddenly returned to Felicity’s face. “And why are you visiting now?” she asked suspiciously.

 

Again there was no hesitation as he answered, “ _Because I’ve missed my baby sister._ ”

 

Laurel hid her smile this time by taking a sip of wine, because the blonde woman was still scowling at her phone. As though it was more than the messenger—or the little electronic device delivering her difficult brother’s voice. But then this ‘Adam’ had to know his sister well enough to know she was scowling at him now, they sounded pretty close.

 

Still the most interesting thing to Laurel, however, was that Ollie was still smiling softly at the blonde in his arms. He hadn’t shifted nervously away, hadn’t made any self-conscious moves at all. Not even a grimace at the thought of his new girlfriend’s big brother flying in from out of town soon. It was surprising, seeing as he’d always been so glad that she only had her over-protective father—plus his badge and various S.C.P.D-issued weaponry—to worry about when he was dating Laurel.

 

But then again, he hadn’t just come back damaged from that island—he _had_ had to grow up there, too. A lot. No matter how well he sometimes managed to hide it.

 

“That’s nice. Try again.” Felicity insisted, but she then rushed on again before he could respond. “Because if you’re just coming here just because I’m dating again, I will make sure you’re on the No-Fly List before you can make it to any airport.”

 

“ _There’s nothing else to it, **Felicity** ,_” Adam told her after a slightly too-long pause.

 

But Laurel had never even met the man, so she could hardly judge the way a stranger talked to his sister from at least outside of Starling City. Even if the emphasis he seemed to put on his sister’s name as he said it did sound slightly strange to her.

 

“Fine,” Felicity’s sigh seemed sudden then.

 

Actually, Laurel thought the other woman’s agreement sounded like the reluctant surrender it was, because it wasn’t like she could—or should—actually stop her big brother from visiting her. The lawyer took another sip of wine, this time to hide her smile once again.

 

“When are you flying in? And where you now, anyway?” Felicity asked him pointedly. “The west coast or Europe?”

 

Laurel blinked at that, because it’d been obvious the man wasn’t local—he had to board an airplane to get here. There was a huge difference between the two places the blonde had referenced, but like the others she decided not to ask.

 

“ _Not telling,_ ” was his immediate response.

 

“Why not?” his sister demanded just as quickly, looking just as put-out as Sara ever had when she hadn’t gotten her way.

 

This time Laurel didn’t try to hide her smile because at this rate she’d have to drown herself in wine before this call ended, and she wasn’t a nice drunk. Besides, both of the boys were smiling, too, and the blonde didn’t seem to care.

 

“ _You’ve already threatened to add me to the No-Fly List,_ ” Adam pointed out, not unreasonably. “ _And I wouldn’t put it past you to not do that, only to make my phone start going crazy in security or during take-off._ ”

 

Felicity snorted. “Spoilsport,” she responded lightheartedly.

 

“ _Nope. I’m the practical one, remember?_ ”

 

“Pragmatic, maybe.”

 

“ _They’re the same thing._ ”

 

“No, they’re not.” Felicity shook her head. “And actually problematic fits you better.”

 

“ _Oh no,_ ” her brother denied. “ _That one’s **definitely** all yours._ ”

 

Tommy’s amused snort probably covered Laurel’s own giggle. Oliver somehow didn’t make a sound but his smile got a little bit bigger even as the blonde rolled her eyes, once again relenting a lot faster than Sara _ever_ would have.

 

“Fine. Call me when you get in then.”

 

“ _Will do,_ ” Adam agreed, then after a moment he asked, “ _So how’s your dinner party going? Who’s—_ ”

 

“Uh-uh,” Felicity cut him off. “The screensaver just came up for my Blu-Ray, so you’ve interrupted our movie long enough, brother-dear.”

 

“ _Fine, fine,_ ” the older brother agreed, also more easily than Laurel herself would have if this were an argument between her and Sara. “ _I’ll see you soon._ ”

 

Felicity didn’t look very happy at that fact, but she only sighed her agreement again. “Okay. Goodnight, Adam.”

 

“ _Goodnight, Felicity,_ ” her brother replied.

 

Felicity waited a moment, then frowned at her phone again. “You’re the one forcing this call, Adam. You have to hang up.”

 

“ _But I want to know what movie you’re watching._ ”

 

Instead of simply telling him the title, Felicity shook her head as she answered, “If I have to take my phone apart to get rid of you tonight, I will, but I promise the payback will be—”

 

“ _Alright, alright,_ ” Adam interrupted again to relent. “ _Enjoy your movie._ ”

 

A moment later, Felicity finally relaxed and put her phone back on its charger—the call clearly ended.

 

Laurel didn’t know the other woman nearly well enough to admit it, but she was honestly a little disappointed. Being audience to that call was at least as entertaining as the movie, even if the reminders of her little Sara meant it was also just as partially painful. Somehow the ache was both nostalgic _and_ new enough to not actually hurt all that much.

 

“So that was your brother,” Ollie said then, stating the fact instead of asking. And to his ex-girlfriend’s continuing surprise he still didn’t look all that bothered by the prospect of meeting his new girlfriend’s older sibling at all. But again, after being tortured by whoever the maniacs’ that’d been with him on that island were, how scary could any big brother be?

 

“Yeah, that’s him,” Felicity sighed as she dropped back into her seat, leaning into the arm Ollie automatically wrapped around her again. “Looks like you’ll be meeting him soon,” she admitted, then added with a wince, “Sorry.”

 

“Don’t be,” Ollie told her immediately.

 

“Yeah, Smoaky,” Tommy piped in then. “You survived Missus Q and Speedy. And us. Your big brother can’t be that bad.”

 

Something about the other woman’s wince made it clear that she didn’t remotely agree. Instead of saying anything in response though, she gestured to the television screen where the Blu-Ray screensaver was playing like she’d told the man they were talking about a minute ago. “We really should keep going on the movie. We’re more than halfway through it, but it’s not really one that’s designed to be watched over more than one night.”

 

“True,” Laurel agreed, not liking the idea of stretching this into two nights either, even if tomorrow was Saturday. She reached for the remote on the table, but Tommy got it first.

 

“Okay, ‘play,’” the dork actually said as he pressed the button. Then, when the screensaver didn’t disappear he frowned. “What? Why didn’t it—”

 

“Wait a second, it just has to wake up again.” Felicity told him, nodding as the screen did finally change and the movie started up again. “There we go.”

 

_“Howdy, neighbor,” John Smith greeted the neighbor he and his wife hadn’t seemed to like at all earlier in the movie._

That dislike really hadn’t been all that well hidden earlier. Sure, both Smiths had pasted on polite smiles for the Colemans’ dinner party, but just how artificial those smiles were had been all too clear.

 

Laurel really wasn’t surprised to see that John Smith had obviously gone to get his neighbor under the pretense of showing him around so that he could use him as a human shield if Jane was home. It took her most of that scene, however, to realize what it was she really didn’t like about all of it. In fact, it wasn’t until the hitman went to look under the tool shed where he’d hidden a veritable armory that his wife had completely cleaned out that it hit her.

 

_“Bitch…” was John’s all too clearly heartfelt reaction to the discovery of all his weapons and the money he’d had stashed under there all gone._

 

And that was the problem right there. All the talk of red oak wood floors and annual golf trophies was entirely superficial.

 

Yet somehow it’d reminded her of how she’d pushed Ollie Ollie to look for an apartment with her back before that boat trip, and the disastrous course that’d set him on. It was the next step they were supposed to take so she’d wanted to take it even if he hadn’t wanted to. Just like the two assassins in the movie made themselves socialize with their next door neighbors even though neither one wanted to.

 

Five years ago, she had known Ollie wasn’t ready, and worse that he didn’t even want to be. He’d even come out and said he thought she was moving too fast, but she’d still pushed him. It was the next step they were supposed to take so she’d insisted they should take it. She’d convinced herself that if she kept pushing they’d end up taking that next oh-so-vital step in their relationship and growing up. They’d move in together. Then he’d get serious in school, start working with his dad, and eventually they’d marry and have kids. The dream… that’d ended in a disaster the likes of which she never would’ve imagined possible. Making her reality a nightmare come true, not a dream.

 

And Laurel couldn’t shake the feeling, now, that she and Tommy might be not-arguing about something that could be just as bad. But even they weren’t and this was just a misunderstanding she’d blown out of proportion, their relationship could not work with secrets and lies. She had tried just being accepting and forgiving with Ollie and it wasn’t a mistake she could let herself make again. She _needed_ to be able to trust Tommy, and she needed _him to trust her_ , too.

 

That really wasn’t too much to ask… was it?

 

Watching this movie—this still somewhat painful blast from the past for her—she really couldn’t say…

 

_“I told you not to bother me at the office, honey,” Jane said to her husband later that same day, when the discovery that he was invading said office building made her people searching for him suddenly unnecessary._

_“Well, you are still Missus Smith,” John responded smartly, while he crawled through what looked like a tunnel of some kind—probably a heat vent or something like that._

 

That’d struck Laurel as odd the first time she’d seen the movie: that an agency of assassins or something like that would work in a building that another assassin could infiltrate with what looked like relative ease. But, she’d told herself, maybe it wasn’t all that easy—she had no idea how he’d done it. And, anyway, he had been caught.

 

It did make her wonder now though if it was the sort of thing someone like the Vigilante would really know how to do. She still couldn’t figure out how he’d gotten into her third story apartment so easily a few months ago…

 

_“Careful, Jane,” John warned his wife. “I can push the button anytime, anywhere.”_

_To which Jane, of course, did not back down. “Baby, you couldn’t find the button with both hands and a map.”_

_The man actually silently laughed at that, but then told her seriously, “Last warning. You need to disappear.”_

_“No.”_

_“Now.”_

_“D sector clear,” her girls were reporting, but Jane hardly seemed to be listening to them as she argued with her husband._

_“You expect me to roll over and play dead?”_

_“You should be used to it after five years,” he teased her._

_“Six,” she bit out. “And I’m not leaving.”_

 

Other than the reenactment of the ‘five or six years’ argument, none of it’d made much sense to Laurel the first time she’d watched the movie, and it still didn’t now. “Doesn’t one of them have to kill the other?” she asked the others, because it really did need to be said.

 

“Yup,” Ollie answered her, and Tommy agreed half a second later.

 

“That’s what her boss said earlier, I think. His probably did…”

 

“Probably,” Felicity murmured from where she still looked very comfortable in Oliver’s arms. “But maybe that’s the point here, too—neither one of them actually wants to kill the other. _That’s_ more important than the fact that they supposedly have to.”

 

That lined up with what Laurel remembered from later in the movie, though she hadn’t watched it after that time she’d seen in with Sara, determined not to see it again until Ollie was watching it with her—even after she’d bought the D.V.D.

 

_On the screen the women started ‘Evacuation Plan C,’ which was apparently via zip-line things that they used to go out the penthouse windows to the roof of another skyscraper._

It’d looked utterly ridiculous to her a few years ago—even if the couple’s exchanged taunts were amusing—but then again the media had images of the city’s vigilante managing even less plausible feats these days.

 

Laurel saw the Felicity flinch a little at the height that the actors probably hadn’t really had to deal with, but Ollie’s arm tightened as he pulled her closer and she almost instantly relaxed again. And the lawyer had to fight a frown that she knew was entirely unfair of her as she made herself look back at the movie again instead of watching how comfortable the two really looked. Like two halves of a whole fitting perfectly together…

 

She should be happy for Ollie. After all, she’d moved on with Tommy so it wasn’t like she could’ve expected Ollie to not move on. Especially when she knew a part of her would always blame him not just for betraying her, but for his responsibility in her sister’s betrayal and death, too.

 

With how tense things were between her and Tommy right now though, watching the new couple who was still so comfortable in those sweet early days of their relationship was hard, so she forced herself to focus on the movie again instead.

 

_“—and you’re trying to tell me you can’t take her out?” John’s beyond irritating friend was demanding of him back at his house some time later: pacing with a shotgun in hand. “Well, now she’s a problem for both of us. Now my house is priority one.”_

_“Just gimme a hand, will you?” John asked; and he seemed to be studying something inside what looked like a burnt-out machine._

_“You’re driving me crazy with the tongs and the furnace,” Eddie told him. “You’re like an insane man.” He shook his head, then asked, “All right, they gave you forty-eight hours. What we got left here? Twenty-three? Twenty-two?”_

_“Eighteen and change.” John answered, still studying the furnace’s contents._

 

“Well, that answers that question,” Tommy pointed out as the annoying friend yelled at his mother for scaring him.

 

Laurel realized he was right, but she knew Felicity’s earlier point was more important—both for the movie, and maybe for Laurel and Tommy, too—so she didn’t say anything.

 

Though she was still really annoyed at herself for not recognizing the kid who was both the assassins’ targets until she’d seen him a third time in the movie tonight. She’d seen the movie before; after all, she should’ve seen the plot point coming! But it’d still surprised her… maybe because the so-called “Tank” they saw later in jeans and a t-shirt just looked that much different when he was dressed up in a suit and tie?

 

_“This is security. There’s a problem with your elevator, sir. Do you want an engineer to come see what the problem is?”_

_“Take your time,” John waived the concerned ‘security’ off. “I’m really quite comfortable.”_

_“Are you really comfortable?” the same voice asked, and it made the hitman grin._

_“Jane? Is that you, sweetheart?”_

_The camera switched to where they could see his wife was, in fact, watching him on the elevator’s camera at the same time. “First and last warning, John. Get out of town.”_

_“You know I’m not going anywhere.”_

_“Well, so you say.” Jane shrugged. “But right now, you’re trapped in a steel box hanging seventy floors over nothing but air.”_

_“Oh,” John actually grinned again. “So this is a trap?”_

 

And Laurel found herself frowning again because she knew that Pitt’s character escaped this somehow, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember _how_. She knew it wasn’t by climbing out of the elevator or something like that… maybe he wasn’t really in the elevator?

 

She almost wanted to ask Felicity, since the tech-expert would probably have some idea as to how something like that might be done. But that would mean looking over at the couch where Tommy was still sitting next to the cuddling couple, so she didn’t say anything…

 

_“It’s never gonna work, honey,” John was telling his wife. “It’s never gonna work, because you constantly underestimate me.”_

_“Do I?” John snapped back doubtfully._

_“You have no idea who I am. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”_

_“Well, back at you, baby,” Jane responded._

_And John spread his hands. “Let me guess… Shaped charge on the counterbalance cable, two on the primary and secondary brakes?” he finished with a grin as he added, “Maybe?”_

_“He found them,” one of Jane’s girls gasped._

_“Yes, thank you,” Jane told her as she took it in stride and asked him, “Did you also get the base charge on the principle cable?” she smirked as he didn’t answer her. “Promise to leave town, or I’ll blow it.”_

_John looked up at the camera again. “Okay. I give up.” He spread his arms again. “Blow it.”_

_Jane blinked. “What?” she asked, looking completely stunned. Understandably, since her husband had just told her to kill him._

_“Go on,” he told her again, “Blow it.”_

_“You think I won’t?” she demanded crossly, her eyebrows snapping together._

_And her husband nodded, “I think you won’t.”_

_“Okay,” Jane stood, her face now impassive as she crossed her arms. “Five, four… Any last words?”_

_“The new curtains are hideous,” he told her and his wife scowled._

_“Goodbye, John.”_

_The movie went back to the elevator, with John grinning up at the camera, before going back to the van Jane and her girls were hiding in, just in time to see one of the girls hit a rapid keystroke in._

**_BOOM!_ **

 

Laurel knew it was just a movie, and she remembered that John somehow survived—but as she watched that completely _stunned_ look overtake Jane’s face again, she couldn’t help but remember how she’d felt when she first found out that the _The Queen’s Gambit_ had been lost at sea. Before Missus Queen told them about Sara, when she never would’ve imagined that any news could be more devastating than that breaking report. For a moment that breaking broadcast had broken her. She’d felt like a puppet whose wires had been cut as that stunned realization—that shock and that pain—had crashed over and right on through her.

 

Hours of worry had followed… and then she’d had to hear that Sara had been on that boat, too. That her baby sister and her boyfriend had been betraying her together when they’d both died—and that’d made her want to hate them almost as much as she’d still wanted them both back…

 

Almost.

 

_“What the hell was that?” Jane demanded of the assistant who she thought had just killed her husband._

_“What?” the blonde blinked at her, then shrugged. “You said goodbye.”_

 

Realistically Laurel knew that the blonde woman was just protecting her own job in the event that the assassin actually couldn’t kill her husband anymore than he could kill her. But she remembered wondering last time, too, how anyone who worked with a profession killer could just shrug at them like that, especially after doing something that was bound to piss them off. Now, remembering the almost animalistic look in the Hood’s eyes back when he’d saved her during the prison riot, she understood it even less.

 

And at least Starling City’s Vigilante was trying to help the city. Hard as it was for Quentin Lance’s daughter to sometimes understand the Vigilante’s way of doing things, she could at least tell herself that he was trying to help. After some of his more heroic moments—Peter Declan, the Christmas Hostage Crisis, that crazy ex-fire-fighter, and that bastard Vanch especially—she could even believe it. Regardless of how terrifying he’d been during that prison riot: a killing machine full of uncontrollable rage.

 

But while watching this movie for the second time, it was all too easy for her to relate to Jane Smith’s stunned, shocked pain. Deadly assassin or not, the woman clearly loved her husband and hadn’t remotely been ready to become a widow.

 

Then again, no one ever could be ready to lose a loved one. If Laurel could be certain of anything, it was that. If you loved someone goodbye always came too soon—especially if that farewell was forever.

 

_“Madame…”_

_Jane didn’t even blink as she looked up to find the husband she’d thought dead looking down at her, now dressed in a sharp tux that suited the fancy restaurant much like her elegant black dress did. She couldn’t quite keep herself from looking a little relieved as he looked up at him._

_“I thought of a number of lines for this moment,” John told her as he walked around to the other side of the table. “‘Thought I’d just drop in.’ ‘Hey, doll, thanks for giving me the shaft.’”_

 

Tommy snorted at that one.

 

Laurel found herself smiling a little, too, while she watched Jane wipe away that one tear she’d just let herself shed. But the movie’s moment seemed too important to interrupt anymore than that…

 

Even while she wondered if Sara surviving _The Gambit_ , too, and coming back with Oliver might’ve made everything easier or harder…

 

_“Nice,” Jane told him with a nod, before asking, “So what did you decide?”_

_He held her gaze for a moment, then answered evenly. “I want a divorce.”_

_“I like it.” Jane nodded, looking around at the restaurant. “You proposed to me here, so it has agreeable symmetry.”_

_“May I sit?” John asked after he’d handed his coat over to a waiter._

_“No,” his wife answered, but he sat down anyway._

_“Champagne?” another waiter appeared to offer him a glass of the same bottle his wife was drinking from._

_“No, champagne’s for celebrating,” John replied, still looking at his wife, then he finally spared the waiter a glance as he told him, “I’ll have a martini.”_

_“I’m fine, thank you,” Jane told the man, waiting till he’d wandered away before she asked her husband. “So what do you want, John?”_

_“We have an unusual problem, Jane. You obviously want me dead,” he shook his head as she shrugged. “And I’m less and less concerned for your wellbeing. So what do we do? Do we shoot it out here? Hope for the best?”_

_“Well, that would be a shame, because they’d probably ask me to leave once you’re dead,” she finished with a smile._

 

Laurel understood now that this was somehow flirtation for this strange couple, but she still couldn’t really understand how the woman who’d just honestly thought she was a widow in mourning could actually joke about killing her husband not more than a minute after seeing him alive again. But then she winced, because she _had_ told Ollie she wished he was still rotting on that island—in Hell—the first time she saw him again. And she’d meant it.

 

All of the other exchanges seemed fairly typical of the pair—of any pair, to some extent—but that’d so bothered her years ago and still bothered her now, watching while the couple started dancing a rather rough version of the tango.

 

_“Think this’ll have a happy ending?” John asked his wife as he led her around the floor._

_Jane didn’t even look at him as she answered, “Happy endings are just stories that haven’t finished yet.”_

 

“Wow, that’s just sad,” Tommy commented, and he was right.

 

Though painfully for Laurel it rang too true anyway.

 

“Makes sense from her viewpoint, though,” Ollie shrugged, “She’s used to death. As an assassin she’s always killing people—not exactly a happy ending.”

 

“And she hasn’t been that happy in her marriage,” Felicity pointed out, “which they can’t save until they decided they want to. Together.”

 

“Ah! Spoiler alert, Smoaky,” Tommy told her teasingly.

 

“I didn’t say anything about what’s _going to happen_ ,” the blonde insisted right away. “That’s what’s happening right now.”

 

“Sure, sure,” Tommy allowed, even as all of them chuckled.

 

Laurel found herself chuckling, too, but her mind was more caught up in what the other woman had just said then the movie or Tommy’s teasing.

 

It couldn’t really be that simple, could it?

 

Just _deciding_ to save your relationship?

 

But, in a way, she supposed it was. The important part, though, was that it was a decision that both parts of the pair had to agree on for it to work.

 

So she could only hope that Tommy might realize that now, too…

 

_“Why is it you think we failed?” Jane asked her husband as they went on with their tango. “‘Cause we were leading separate lives? Or was it all the lying that did us in?”_

_“I have a theory,” John responded right away. “Newly formed.”_

_“I’m **breathless** to hear it,” Jane declared, not even needing to roll her eyes because her voice was so laden with sarcasm._

_John looked at her again then. “ **You** killed us,” he told her._

_And she responded flatly, “Provocative.”_

_John led her through several more sharp, swift steps before speaking again. “You approached our marriage like a job, something to be re-conned, planned and executed,” he insisted._

_“And you avoided it,” she shot straight back._

_“Why do you care?” John asked her as he suddenly stopped leading the dance, leaving them standing in the middle of the dance floor with other couples moving around them. “If I was just a cover?”_

_Jane blinked at him, “Well, who said you were just a cover?”_

_After a moment, John started leading the dance again. “Wasn’t I?” he asked her._

_“Wasn’t I?” she asked right back._

 

It all seemed very, very sad to Laurel, which she didn’t remember it being the first time around.

 

The first time she saw this movie with Sara, she remembered it being action-packed and funny. She remembered it being about a crazy couple working through their even crazier issues, and thinking that maybe it could help her and Ollie put their own problems in perspective.

 

Right now, though, with the title character’s secrets all out in the open and making their life together implode. It just seemed so very, very sad.

 

And that was before two separate bombs resulted in them leaving the restaurant and speeding home. Jane in her own car, and John in a limousine he’d just stolen from a driver who’d actually offered it to him right after he’d watched the man toss his tuxedo top into mailbox that’d then blown up…

 

_“Jane Smith,” John chastised his wife over the phone from the limo he’d just stolen. “That’s the second time you’ve tried to kill me.”_

_“Oh, it was just a little bomb,” Jane responded impishly._

_He shook his head and told her, “I’m going home to burn everything I ever bought you.”_

_“I’ll race you there, baby,” she shot back and then hung up._

_They weren’t driving a whole ten seconds before he called her back._

_“You there yet?” Jane asked, though she had to know he wasn’t since they were coming from the same place and their cars couldn’t fly._

_“First time we ever met, what was your first thought?” John asked her._

_Jane immediately looked uncomfortable but she didn’t let it show in her voice, “You tell me.”_

_“I thought…” John sighed tiredly. “I thought you looked like Christmas morning.” He shook his head, a little smile taking over his face. “I don’t know how else to say it.”_

_Jane swallowed, but her voice was still steady as she asked, “And why are you telling me this now?”_

_“Guess in the end you start thinking about the beginning,” John told her. “So there it is. I thought you should know.” He waited a moment, then asked her again, “So how about it, Jane? Hmm?”_

_“I thought…” Jane trailed off thoughtfully, then she closed her eyes for a moment, and her voice was flat again as she returned her eyes to the road and answered. “I thought that you were the most beautiful mark I’d ever seen.”_

_John nodded, his smile gone. “So it was all business, yeah?”_

_“All business. From the go,” Jane nodded. “Cold hard math.”_

_“Thank you,” her husband answered. “That’s what I needed to know.”_

_“Okay.”_

_“Okay.”_

 

Again, Laurel found as she watched Jane disconnect the call after clearly trying to make her husband hate her enough to actually kill her it all seemed so very sad. They had all the secrets that were destroying their marriage earlier out in the open now, and still self-destruction seemed unavoidable. And it _shouldn’t_ be. It shouldn’t—but sometimes it was.

 

They all laughed as they watched Jane crash her car into the stolen limo just to beat her husband into the driveway first, but the humor didn’t entirely erase the dark depression that path of self-destruction they were on brought with it…

 

So as the action-packed sequence crashed through the formerly beautiful home, destroying more than it didn’t, Laurel could only watch with a sort of morbid fascination.

_In the end, the pair ended up staring at each other for a very long, long moment, guns aimed straight at each other. They stayed several seconds, neither moving: not even blinking._

_“Can’t…” John looked down, shaking his head, before he looked at her again. “I can’t do it,” he admitted at last, and lowered his gun._

_“Don’t!” Jane immediately yelled at him, glaring fiercely as she tried to make him take aim again. “Come on!”_

_But she hadn’t disengaged the safety on the shotgun she had aimed at his head either._

_“Come on!”_

_Her husband shook his head again. “You want it? It’s yours.”_

 

Laurel closed her eyes, not knowing if she wanted to cry or smile.

 

The scene had seemed amazing to her the first time around, but as she was now watching it while on tense terms with another boyfriend, she wasn’t sure it held the same magic as before. Or maybe it did and she just didn’t want to see it till she was sure the possibility of making up with Tommy was an actual possibility?

 

As she opened her eyes and turned enough to meet Tommy’s own stare straight on, Laurel could only hope that they’d be able to work everything out. Even though they’d never resort to nearly killing each other to speed it all along…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Whoo… okay, there’s Laurel’s viewpoint. Hope it makes some sense—even though she went back and forth on some things and contradicted herself at least once. Yes, that was very deliberate. Laurel and Tommy are in a rough spot right now, and it’s rough for and on both of them. And I won’t say I particularly like Laurel’s viewpoint because I don’t like the double-standards she doesn’t even seem to realize she has. But that seems like a fairly integral part of her canon character that it took her a long while to get over on the show, and I’m not sure she ever entirely shook it. Also, honestly Laurel and Tommy are probably going to have to have a pretty big argument before they can come to terms with each other—but they have to get to that point first.  
>  Tommy feels bad for keeping secrets from her but they’re not his secrets to tell, Laurel thinks he’s lying to her and isn’t willing to put up with the sort of stuff Oliver used to pull on her from Tommy—those are the basic parts of the argument in general here, but neither one is willing to come out and say it yet. Maybe a little more of the movie will help though, we’ll see. ;-)  
> And on a completely different note about this chapter: YES, I know that the whole song Kryptonite is one gigantic tribute to Superman and therefore I probably shouldn’t have used it in this verse, but it just worked too well for Methos & Felicitas, so I’m calling writer’s license yet again and hoping it doesn’t bug anybody too much. Seriously, it’s been stuck in my head as one of two songs that worked really well at embodying Methos. The other one is Alan Parson’s ‘Old and Wise,” but as a response to Felicity’s last ‘prank’ it didn’t work as well. Plus that really worked better for any old Immortals who happen to be friends—or for any Immortals thinking of lost friends. Kryptonite really works better as a protective big brother calling, so there it is…   
> Okay, so the next part is Felicity’s P.O.V—and no it probably won’t be one whole big internal rant against her dear big brother, though that’s tempting. Our favorite Immortal has plenty to think about, too. ;-)  
> After that we’ll take a peek inside Oliver’s head again, and then it’s onto the next story! Which, believe it or not, is one of those stories I’ve continually teased about that is almost entirely pre-written because my muses kept going back to it while I was trying to work on earlier parts of the series. There’re one or two things I have to add to it, but other than that it’s just about ready to go. Ergo, for the next month or so (after I finish this short-story, which wasn’t pre-written at all because it was originally supposed to be an interlude), updates should be fairly regular for a while. Yay!  
> Thoughts, comments, suggestions, constructive criticisms, etc. are always welcome!  
> Thanks for reading!  
> Jess S


	4. Web of Lies - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, I am now positive I’ve figured out how many parts will be in this “supposed to be an interlude that turned into an ever-lengthening short-story.” Not 4. Not 5. 6. And then it should be done so we can get onto the next actually PLANNED story, which at this point is already over 200 pages, so at least the wait between chapters there shouldn’t be too long.  
> But I don’t have anything else to say right now—most of that’ll come at the end—so without further ado, here’s Part 4! Enjoy! :-)

_ Felicity Smoak’s P.O.V. _

__

_“Hi, stranger,” Jane said softly, smiling sweetly._

_“Hiya back,” John responded just as softly, also smiling._

 

Felicity had to smile as they watched the couple make-up, the controlled violence of their coupling balanced by the sheer sweetness that echoed back to when they first met and fell in love—secrets and all. Even knowing that a lot of action had to explode on the screen again all too soon, it was still nice to see this resolution. To see the couple connecting again the way they hadn’t been able to earlier in the movie—save for during those flashbacks they’d seen of the couple’s pre-marriage days.

 

It was what everyone wanted from a relationship. To really see the person you love and to have them see you and love you just as much…

 

It’d been a long time—too long—since she’d felt a connection that deep with anyone, but then she hadn’t exactly been open to sharing herself—openly and completely—with anyone since that disaster in Spain. And that might be why she wanted to share so much more of herself with Oliver. Why she wanted to tell him the truth.

 

The physical burns that’d been José’s last gift to her had healed before she’d awoken again surrounded by her friends. The hurts to her heart, however, had taken far longer to heal: they weren’t open wounds anymore either, but the scars were still certainly there on her psyche. She couldn’t go through that again.

 

But she didn’t think Oliver would hurt her.

 

She hadn’t thought her former fiancé in during La Década Ominosa would hurt her either. But she had been wary of both his religious zeal and his greed, especially his open support of the Inquisition when it was already falling fast from favor. Felicitas had seen more than enough religious fanaticism long before that to be wary of it, but she’d wanted to believe José would love her regardless. She was wrong. So disastrously wrong that she’d ended up dying a horrific death on what was supposed to be her wedding day….

 

Oliver was driven, determined and bold, but he wasn’t a fanatic of any kind. He could be—if not reasoned with—at least argued into seeing reason. He would and did listen to her. But she wasn’t sure she’d have the heart to argue with him if his first instinct was to reject who and what she really was…

 

Felicity swallowed and gingerly cuddled closer to the man she knew she was already in love with, relaxing a little as he responded by silently shifting so that she could lean more comfortable and closer hold as they kept watching the movie.

 

Even the interruption from the couple’s despised neighbors was cute.

 

_“Yeah?” was John’s greeting after a blink when he opened the door, to find both of the Colemans standing there sheepishly, a pair of police officers behind them._

_“Everything okay?” Missus Coleman asked him, clearly trying to not look at his bare chest even as she smiled nervously at him. “We heard an awful ruckus.”_

_“No, everything’s fine here,” John told them, apparently not disliking his neighbors quite so much as before now that he and his wife were having sex again. “Yeah, it’s great.”_

_“So you guys are fine?” Mister Coleman clarified semi-skeptically._

_To be fair, John did have his fair share of cuts and bruises—though whether they were more from the fight or the make-up sex, only he’d know. “Yeah, couldn’t be better,” the assassin replied again, shaking his head._

_But his neighbors still looked concerned and the cops still looked serious, which was probably why Jane chose that moment to make her husband open the door a little more so she could duck under his arm, which he immediately wrapped around her. She clearly wasn’t wearing anything under the sheet she’d wrapped around herself—something she’d probably had to run upstairs for since they’d been screwing downstairs with no bed or sheets in sight before._

_“Nice,” Mister Coleman blinked while his wife tried to decide on the right kind of smile as the other woman smiled out at them. “You guys are…”_

_“Suzy, Martin,” Jane nodded to both of them, clearly knowing she’d managed to avert the potential crisis since the cops were now both smirking. “Have a nice night.”_

_“Looks like you’re redecorating, it’s very… yeah,” Marin Coleman was saying even as John closed the door. “Shame about the red oak…”_

 

Felicity couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling, because the couple hadn’t even tried to hide the fact that they’d been completely destroying their house—just used the fact that they’d been fucking afterwards to brush off the fight. The actors all pulled it off, but it seemed like lazy writing to her.

 

She’d come up with some lousy excuses for the secrets she couldn’t share over the years. It was why it was so easy for her to take Oliver’s lousy lies early on without blinking too many times at them. Not that that’d kept her from calling him on some of the worse ones. Like he ran out of sports bottles but happened to have a syringe that looked like a weapon lying around…

 

_“Five more minutes, Mom,” Eddie was saying when his phone buzzed, waking him up because of an incoming message that he blinked at._

**_Jane Smith_ **

**_$250,000_**

_After a moment, however, he closed his eyes again. “Tempting. But I don’t get out of bed for less than half a million dollars.”_

_As if in answer, another message came through just then—a second hit that the man stared at in horror as soon as he saw it._

**_John Smith_ **

**_$250,000_**

 

And so that was where the rest of the action was coming from all too soon—though even the first time she’d seen the movie she’d been almost certain that John’s best friend wouldn’t be hunting for him later on. Their relationship was clearly too close for that.  

 

The company Jane worked for had seemed to be a fair bit larger, but the girls she’d worked with were clearly her support crew, not killers themselves: so the odds of them being called on to kill their boss were low.

 

Given that Eddie was supposedly also an assassin, however, he could’ve been hunting the Smiths later in the movie, too. That’d clearly been something the director wasn’t actually interested in though, because Eddie was the best friend. So the only other choice the movie had had was to either make him stay that best friend or become a villain, which would almost certainly lead to his death and a not so funny scene for the comic relief character.

 

_“That left of yours,” John was telling his wife as they ate their breakfast—what little of their food that’d survived—sitting on the floor. “A thing of beauty.”_

_“You take it well,” Jane complimented, and he nodded back._

_“Thank you.”_

_His wife looked thoughtful for a moment, then she finally asked him, “That vacation in Aspen? You left early. Why?”_

_John smirked at her, “Jean-Luc Gaspard,” he replied with relish as she grimaced._

_“Oh, God!” Jane groaned as her husband nodded._

_“Yeah.”_

_“I wanted him,” she admitted._

_“Forget it,” he told her, still smirking, though that fell as he returned with a curiosity of his own. “You didn’t hear me that night the chopper dropped me off for our anniversary dinner.”_

_“…No,” Jane frowned thoughtfully, clearly thinking about it. Specifically about how she could’ve not heard a chopper because the things were loud._

_“No?” he repeated, and watched as her frown fell when she figured out the answer without ever bothering to ask for which of their five or six anniversaries he was referring to._

_“Percussion grenades,” Jane answered at last, gesturing towards her ears. “I was partially deaf that night.”_

_John accepted that with a nod. “I’m slightly color blind,” he confessed with a shrug. “Retinal scarring.”_

_His wife pressed her thumb and pointer finger together and turned the other fingers towards him. “I can’t feel anything in these three fingers.”_

_“Three ribs,” John told her. “Broken eye socket. Perforated eardrum.” They were both quiet for a long moment, before he asked her curiously, “You ever have trouble sleeping after?”_

_Jane shook her head slowly. “No.”_

_“Yeah,” he agreed, shaking his head just as slowly. “Me neither.”_

 

That was something Felicity had never been able to say, and she never wanted to either. While feeling bad for something did of course always _feel bad_ it was also part of what helped her continue to believe—even after killing someone—that she was still a good person.

 

The killing could be necessary. Enjoying it _wasn’t_.

 

Though there had been a few times over the years when she’d come close to that line she didn’t ever want to cross.

 

Even if she hadn’t herself, she’d loved enough warriors before Oliver to understand some of the dilemmas he had to work through in his head. Just like her long years also helped her understand both of his friends problems better than he probably did.

 

Laurel was terrified of being hurt again.

 

Tommy was terrified of losing Laurel.

 

Their fears kept them frozen, though being stagnant statues could ultimately do them no good at all.

 

Laurel wanted total honesty so much she wasn’t letting herself remember that she’d kept secrets herself—she’d told lies herself. Even to Tommy.

 

Tommy couldn’t tell Oliver’s secret without betraying him, and that was something he did not want to do. Regardless of how much he loved Laurel, he loved Oliver, too. They’d grown up as the closest of friends—like brothers, both of them had said. And Tommy had already lost his brother once; he desperately didn’t want to lose him again. No matter how much he didn’t understand how his childhood best friend had somehow become Starling City’s already infamous vigilante.

 

Killing was something she knew Tommy couldn’t understand. Lessons that Malcolm Merlyn must’ve learned himself in the League of Assassins he hadn’t passed onto his son. Even the simple truth that killing _was_ sometimes necessary, and without understanding that, Tommy couldn’t hope to grasp that sometimes sheer brutality was entirely necessary, too.

 

This time period was a world of guns and missiles—airplanes and bombs. Most people lived under the illusion of safety. Wars were far away, so the up-close and personal nature of war that Felicitas had grown up with had become an element of history books and stories. A lore all its own—the legendary wars of the ancient world that were so glorious even the gore was remembered as glamorous rather than part of the muck and filth. That was what the general population wanted to believe, anyway.

 

Now the fights took place almost entirely in the shadows. Fighters like Mazin’s assassins had always operated best that way, but now they weren’t the only ones hiding.

 

Nations had specially trained soldiers that they sent behind enemy lines and then didn’t recognize if they made the mistake of being caught. A child of the so-called ‘Cold War’ that Felicitas couldn’t help but find despicable, even if she understood why it’d come about when nuclear weapons were even theoretically at play.

 

She’d never seen a nuclear weapon being used herself—either in trials or the devastating attacks that ended the war in the Pacific. Mazin, however, had been on that side of the Second World War: and his horrific accounts had left just as much of an impression upon her as witnessing the weapon itself had on him. Perhaps she should find it reassuring that the idea of another city disappearing in a flash of light had cowed the world into a semblance of better behavior—it might well be why the world hadn’t gone to war a third time. But something about the secrecy and lies couldn’t sit well with her. After all, it was one thing to lie to your enemies, it was entirely another thing to lie to your own people and abandon the soldiers sworn to serve you…

 

Of course, Immortals now fought almost entirely in secret, too. The days when duels were legal in the civilized world had passed. So now they had to be doubly careful when crossing swords for the damn Game: hiding their fighting just as much as their endless life-spans. Though _that_ was something she couldn’t regret. Not if it made even the most mindless headhunters a little cautious—if it made them exercise even a modicum of control it was an improvement.

 

But those were things she couldn’t remotely talk to Oliver about, certainly not with the other couple here. Tommy and Laurel’s own issues, however, should still be easier to them find some resolutions for than hers were. So it was that much more tempting.

 

But how to go about it? Sometimes all it took was a tap or a nudge. Sometimes it really required a push or a shove. There were times when pulling worked better, and still others when nothing short of cages and chains could work.

 

Oliver wanted to help them so badly, but if it was left up to him he’d probably just stay out of their way. Hope for the best but expect the worst, _and_ hate himself for being right when his friends’ world came apart.

 

The movie suddenly surging into the expected action at last drew her eyes back to the screen as both assassins were forced to flee from their attackers. An amusingly unsuccessful exchange of hand signals eventually leading to them escaping into their basement—since that was probably the only area of their home they hadn’t yet destroyed.

 

_“I was given forty-eight hours to take you out,” John told his wife._

_“Same,” Jane acknowledged and her husband swore._

_“ **Jesus** , where the trust?”_

_Jane rolled her eyes, “What do you expect?”_

 

“Scary thing is that there are actually people that live that way,” Tommy commented, then grimaced. “I mean, probably. There probably are, right?”

 

“There are,” Laurel agreed softly, looking thoughtful again.

 

Saving Felicity from deciding if she should try to rescue Tommy from his slip of the tongue while their vigilante stayed stubbornly silent… Then again, Oliver keeping his mouth shut on this was probably a _good_ thing.

 

_“Why do I get the girl gun?” Jane hissed when her husband handed her the smallest of the two guns he had stored in the basement._

_John blinked at her, “Are you kidding me?”_

_Jane shook her head, still scowling as she insisted, “No.”_

_Leading to her husband reluctantly giving up the more ‘manly’ gun, which barely mattered anyway since their attackers decided to drop a grenade into the basement—and John instinctively kicked it away from them: right under the nearby fuel tank._

_The couple barely made it outside of the basement before their house blew up—miraculously killing everyone except them in the process._

 

“Well,” Laurel shook her head. “I suppose we can be glad that the Triad doesn’t do stuff like that.”

 

Felicity snorted, “If they started blowing buildings up, the F.B.I would get involved pretty quickly. And the National Guard, probably.”

 

“Yeah, they’d definitely call that terrorism,” Tommy agreed.

 

Oliver still stayed silent, and something about his slightly stiffer posture made her think he didn’t remotely agree. Then again he had closer ties to _ARGUS_ than she’d ever remotely consider making herself, so he probably had a better idea of whether or not the nation’s most ruthless espionage agency would allow others anywhere near its main headquarters…

_“I was never in the Peace Corps,” Jane randomly confessed, apparently continuing their interrupted conversation even as they stole their—probably now former—neighbor’s minivan._

_“What?” John blinked at her as he got in the driver’s seat, then he winced and all but whined. “I really liked that about you.”_

_His wife shrugged, “Maybe this honesty thing isn’t such a good idea._

_He was quiet a moment, then admitted, “I didn’t go to M.I.T.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Notre Dame. Art History major.”_

_“Art?” Jane repeated, both her eyebrows going up._

_“History,” John clarified pointedly. “It’s reputable.”_

_“Okay,” she accepted with a smirk even as they both turned around to look out the back as the garage door opened and he started backing up, speeding up when he saw a man standing there aiming a gun at them._

_After he’d hit the would-be assassin that didn’t manage to get a single shot off, John threw the car back in park and ran out to grab the gun, kicking the other killer for good measure before he ran back to the driver’s seat and put the van back in reverse and finished the man off by running him over. “Fuckers get younger every year…”_

 

Felicity snorted, shaking her head when everyone looked at her. “What? It was funny.”

 

Oliver shook his head, but he’d relaxed again since they’d stopped talking about agencies in charge of spies and assassins. Clearly he didn’t like his ties to _ARGUS_ anymore than she did.

 

The other two also turned back to the movie, clearly not finding the comment as amusing as she did.

 

Then again they weren’t thousands of years old either.

 

 _They_ probably hadn’t reached the point where they felt old yet. Oliver might have, considering all the hell he’d been through, though most of that tale had been told by the many scars all over his form…

_“I have to tell you,” John told his wife as he drove down the highway later on. “I never really liked your cooking.” He shook his head. “It’s not your gift.”_

_Jane didn’t look at all bothered as she told him, “Baby, I’ve never cooked a day in my life.” At his confused look she clarified, “I-Temp girls cooked.”_

_“Web of lies!” her husband declared with clear bemusement. They were quiet for a long moment, before he turned the radio up and started singing along with the song that was playing…_

_“I don’t know how you do it,_

_Making love…_

_Out of nothing at all._

_Making love…_

_At the look his wife gave him, John shrugged. “I like it,” he told her with a shrug. “Deal with it.”_

_But he didn’t keep singing along with the radio, instead he glanced in the rearview mirror in time to see three identical cars gaining on them._

_“We got company.”_

_“What?” Jane looked back, then swore. “Shit…”_

_John started swerving when bullets came at them from the trio of attack cars, meaning his wife couldn’t get a shot off either because she was being thrown around the back too much._

_“Honey!” Jane snapped when his evasive driving finally got to be too much for her. “Honey, let me drive.”_

_“I got it,” he tried to tell her._

_“Move over. **Move** ,” his wife insisted firmly. “I’m the suburban housewife, sweetheart.”_

 

Everyone snorted at that one, because it really was that absurd to hear the woman they’d watched kill people left and right throughout the movie actually say something like that. Even sarcastically.

 

Watching John and Jane switch seats even as their stolen minivan raced down the highway was actually was triggered an idea—and Felicity didn’t hesitate to use it as it all came together in her head. “So, you’ve worked with the Vigilante before, haven’t you Laurel?” she asked the other woman, keeping her own face impassive even as Oliver stiffened and the other two looked at her in wide-eyed shock.

 

“Wh-What?” the lawyer didn’t quite gasp the word, but she definitely stuttered and was all but gaping at Felicity.

 

“The Vigilante,” Felicity repeated, meeting Laurel’s gaze calmly. Completely ignoring all the tension in Oliver’s frame, along with the confused glare Tommy had aimed at her. “He helped you save that man that was on Death Row just in the nick of time, didn’t he? D-something, I think? Deeks—no. Decon? No that’s not it, either. Dee—”

 

“Declan. Peter Declan,” Laurel told her, with a nod as she reached for the remote and paused the movie yet again before turning back to tell her. “And yes. He was wrongly convicted of killing his wife. Framed by his boss, Jason Brodeur.”

 

“But the Vigilante—they called him The Hood back then, I guess—and he helped you save him, didn’t he?”

 

“He-He did,” the lawyer acknowledged, nodding slowly as she admitted it.

 

Tommy was too busy still frowning at Felicity to notice the uncertain look his girlfriend had sent his way just then.

 

Oliver may have noticed it though, or he’d simply realized what she might be aiming for, because one or the other had him starting to relax again as he kept listening quietly.

 

Felicity nodded, feigning a thoughtful expression as she continued. “And he stopped that ex-firefighter who was killing his old teammates, too, didn’t he?”

 

“I don’t think—” Oliver started to say then, but that was all she let him get in.

 

“You said she worked with the Vigilante on that, too,” Felicity interrupted, directing the words over her shoulder at him, but keeping her eyes locked with Laurel’s all the same. She chose each word specifically, because she didn’t doubt there would come a day when Laurel would learn all about what Oliver had become. They just weren’t ready for that yet.

 

“I did, and yeah, he did,” Laurel answered more steadily this time, clearly making herself go on even though her voice stayed steady the whole time. “Then he rescued me when Cyrus Vanch kidnapped me, too.” She cocked her head to the side, studying Felicity for a moment before she asked her, “Why?”

 

“Just curious,” Felicity shrugged lightly, and looked at Tommy then. “That must’ve been really hard for you, too? When she was kidnapped, I mean?”

 

Tommy blinked at her, so he didn’t see Laurel’s curiosity turn into pained regret for just the second it was there before her law school mask took over. “Yeah…” he admitted slowly. “Yeah, it was.”

 

“Glad he was able to help,” Oliver spoke up then, and the sincerity in his voice was unfeigned.

 

Tommy’s face softened a little in response, “Me, too. Real glad.” He looked over at his girlfriend again, but the brunette seemed to be studying her nails.

 

“Must’ve been real scary for you, too, of course,” Felicity nodded to Laurel, deliberately drawing her back to the impromptu conversation again.

 

“Ye-Yeah. It was,” the lawyer agreed, pressing her lips together and swallowing once before she persevered. “But I’m glad it worked out the way it did.”

 

“With you still in one piece?” Tommy’s laugh was harsh. “Yeah, me too,” he added, sounding like he doubted she’d believe him.

 

Laurel blinked at him, “No—Well, yes. I mean, I’m glad he saved me. But…” she trailed off for a moment, collecting her thoughts before she tried to explain. “Vanch went back to prison—for life. He belongs there. And the Vigilante—he didn’t just save me. He let my Dad help, too. I think they needed that, both of them.” She shook her head slowly. “Vanch kept saying how ready he was for the Hood, and that once he came I was dead anyway. But he wasn’t ready for him to have anyone else helping him.”

 

“Surprised your dad had it in him,” Tommy commented, sounding more confused than acerbic now.

 

“Believe me, I was too,” Laurel laughed, shaking her head in amazement.

 

“I’m not.” Oliver spoke up then, and Felicity felt his shrugged when his friends blinked at him. “I’m pretty sure there’s nothing your dad wouldn’t do to keep you safe, Laurel.”

 

Tommy nodded his agreement at that, and Laurel closed her eyes for a moment as she, too, nodded.

 

“You’re right,” Laurel agreed softly, then sighed as she admitted, “Still, I’m glad he didn’t let my dad kill him.” She shrugged when Tommy frowned at her. “Vanch, I mean. My dad was so angry; the Hood had to stop him from gunning Vanch down. I’m…” she trailed off to swallow again. “I’m not sure he could’ve lived with himself if he’d done that.”

 

“He’s a cop, Laurel,” Oliver reminded her gently, going on as her startled eyes shot to him. “If it was a choice between you or Vanch, I’m sure he would’ve picked you.”

 

“I know,” Laurel agree softly again, and sighed again. “But I’m glad he didn’t have to.”

 

“Yeah,” Tommy quietly agreed again, his early harshness gone as quickly as it’d come.

 

Felicity watch the two look at each other for a moment, then shook her head and spoke up again, “Sorry for interrupting the movie again, ask this one,” she indicated Oliver with a jerk of her chin. “I have no brain to mouth filter whatsoever.”

 

“She really doesn’t,” Oliver chuckled, though he—like Tommy—had to realize she’d brought all of that up for very specific reasons. Just like she’d invited all of them here tonight for specific reasons, too.

 

Laurel only shook her head and pressed play on the remote.

 

Drawing them all back into the gun fight taking place between a trio of cars chasing down the Smith’s in their stolen van. The scene was entirely too humorous, considering exactly what was going on, but it still somehow worked. Because the gunfight wasn’t what mattered in the movie—what it was really about was the two highly trained and competent assassins getting used to working together in the same competitive way they’d always done everything else.

 

_“I think I should tell you,” came John’s next random confession sometime later. “I was married once before.”_

_Jane blinked, and then scowled as she slammed on the brakes. Making her husband fly forward into the back of the passenger’s seat—putting him perfectly in range of her hands to hit him repeatedly._

_“What is wrong with you?” John snapped, cringing away from her slapping hands but not trying to fight back at all._

_And again, both assassins seemed to be all but ignoring the people who were still trying to kill them._

_“ **You’re** what’s wrong with me!” Jane snapped back, still hitting him._

_“It was a drunken Vegas thing,” her husband tried to tell her._

_“Oh, that’s better,” Jane said sarcastically. “That’s much better. Great.”_

_“Stop it,” John finally told her, the hand he shielded himself with for the first time getting her to relent even as he turned his attention back to the attackers that’d managed to come back around after flying past them when his angry wife had so unexpectedly stopped. “Go, go, go!”_

 

“I know this is supposed to be a comedy,” Tommy said then. “But should they really be just ignoring all the people trying to kill them like that?”

 

“Should they? No,” Felicity answered before Oliver could, because knowing him he’d say something stupid that might make Laurel start thinking something she shouldn’t, which wasn’t something they needed now. “But love makes people do stupid things sometimes.”

 

Tommy blinked at her, but looked back at the screen when she only offered him a small smile and a shrug.

 

_“What’s her name and social security number?” Jane wanted to know._

_“No,” her husband immediately told her, rolling his eyes. “You’re not gonna kill her.”_

 

“You know, I’ve never really gotten the appeal of that—the Vegas weddings, whether you’re drunk or not.” Felicity decided to speak up then, since she was the girl that was supposedly from Vegas. “I mean, the ones that actually do it intentionally—is it just like an elopement? To avoid the hassle of a wedding?”

 

“Something like that, I’d guess,” Laurel responded, and shook her head. “It’s not really fair to their friends or family.”

 

“No,” Felicity agreed, then went on, “But if they can’t even put up with the stress of planning a wedding, I’m not sure why they think they can handle being married.”

 

“You know this isn’t what most marriages are supposedly like, right?” Tommy asked as he risked a glance between her and Oliver that surprisingly didn’t seem to bother the other former playboy.

 

Felicitas had been married too many times to find the idea frightening in the least. She and Methos had agreed a very long time ago: it was better to love and lose, because the alternative—an eternity alone—was simply unthinkable. Unbearable. Impossible.

 

Part of Felicitas had always wished there was any actual chemistry between her and the older Immortal, and she knew he’d thought it a time or two, too, but it’d just never happened. She loved her brother, but that was who he’d always be to her, nothing more, and nothing less. The heart wants what it wants, not what the head tells it to want…

 

Still, after all the issues ‘Ollie Queen’ had had with commitment once upon a time, it was something of a surprise that Oliver really hadn’t reacted at all to his friend’s implication. The silent reference to their relationship being the closer one to the Smiths because Oliver was the vigilante didn’t seem to faze the archer at all.

 

Was that only because he was a bit caught up in the sheer absurdity of the van chase that somehow hadn’t attracted any sirens at all? Well, only time could tell…

 

_“These doors **are** handy,” John commented after he’d helped one poor fool run in one door and then right out the other side, too. Then he looked back at his wife. “You know, sweetheart, you’re being a bit hypocritical. It’s not like you’re some beacon of truth.”_

_The point clearly hit home, because Jane immediately winced, and a moment later she confessed, “John, my parents…” she hesitated a moment, then quickly rushed out, “They died when I was five. I’m an orphan.”_

_John turned from shooting at their pursuers to blink at her for a second in confusion as he asked, “Who was that kindly fellow who gave you away at our wedding?”_

_“A paid actor,” she answered with a wince._

_Her husband looked shocked for the half second it took another realization to stike. “I said, I **said** , I saw your dad on Fantasy Island!”_

_“I know…” Jane sighed._

 

And Felicity really couldn’t help laughing again, not just because it was somewhat funny, but because of how absurdly the admittedly absurd movie managed to fit some aspects of her own life.

 

Sure, she wasn’t an assassin, but Oliver knew next-to-nothing of her history because revealing any of it meant—in part—revealing all of it. And as an Immortal she also had the horrible revelation of The Game always looming out on tomorrow’s horizons, too…

 

“It’s not that funny,” Laurel grumbled in complaint.

 

Felicity didn’t take it personally, however, because if either their earlier exchange or this scene had managed to make the other woman see how hypocritical _she_ was being towards her boyfriend with their current argument, the other couple might actually be making progress tonight. Finally.

 

_“We’re gonna have to redo every conversation we’ve ever had,” John commented once they were driving the stolen and now pretty much destroyed van down the highway, their pursuers all probably dead in the fiery car crash the competitive Jane had just caused or during the random exchanges of violence before that._

_Jane was quiet for another moment, then she confessed, “I’m Jewish.”_

_John blinked at her, and then shook his head. “I can’t believe I brought my real parents to our wedding…”_

 

Oliver pressing another kiss into her hair startled Felicity for a second, before she realized what’d probably prompted it.

 

She’d told him she was Jewish months ago, though it’d never come up since then. It wouldn’t, really, because she didn’t exactly practice anything outside of when she was with Donna—whose real mother _had_ been Jewish.

 

Felicitas herself had switched religions almost as many times as she’d switched names—always making it a point to pay attention to the local customs and traditions. To respect them. To fit in and be accepted. Something that’d been very necessary many times. Some times more than others. A simple fact of survival was that fitting in meant others were more likely to want to help you than hurt you if they liked you. Most of the time anyway.

 

Identifying with her mother’s heritage and religion had been especially important for Donna growing up, because it was one of the few things she’d had left of her parents. Both her mortal mother, who’d been born and raised Jewish, and the Immortal man who’d converted for his beloved wife. The parents who should have raised her, in a better world. A world without cancer, and a world without the damn Game…

 

Still, it was sweet, both the action and why Oliver had done it.

 

Even if it did make Laurel wince as she looked away again.

 

_“Good morning, Eddie,” John said after startling his friend by seemingly coming out of nowhere while the other assassin was distracted by yelling at his waitress for poorly cooked food._

_“Morning,” Eddie nodded back. “It’s good to see you’re okay.” He paused, then asked hopefully, “Tell me you got smart and that you killed that lying bitch.”_

_“This lying bitch?” Jane’s voice drew his eyes over to where she’d already been leaning against the wall just out of his peripheral vision till then._

_“Guess it was just wishful thinking,” Eddie sighed, then shrugged when he saw the blank look on his friend’s face. “I’m sorry.”_

_“Eddie,” John started, but his friend kept talking over him._

_“It’s nice to see you, Jane,” the other assassin said more courteously, though the suspicious look he gave her immediately afterwards was far less diplomatic._

_“Eddie! Focus,” John insisted, but otherwise ignored the looks his childhood best friend was still sending towards his wife. “We got problems.”_

_“Problems?” Eddie blinked at him, then shook his head. “Crack addicts got problems, my friend. You two are **smoked**.”_

_“Maybe,” John shrugged._

_“Maybe?” Eddie snorted. “You’ve got the entire agency gunning for you. Probably her agency, too.”_

_“And what about you?” John wanted to know, though he’d undoubtedly already guessed. “Where are you at?”_

_“Me? Where am I at?” Eddie shrugged, meeting his friend’s eyes. “I find myself dragging my feet this morning.”_

 

“Is it stupid that I find myself weirdly reassured by that?” Tommy wondered aloud.

 

“No,” Oliver answered right away.

 

And Felicity agreed, “Being able to trust your friends is important.”

 

“Yeah, it is. The people you love can hurt you a lot more deeply than anyone else,” Laurel affirmed, though she didn’t even seem to notice that both her boyfriend and her ex winced at that.

 

She seemed to be thinking, which would hopefully be a good thing, going forward. Especially if that thinking led to talking.

_“Focus, Eddie, focus,” John snapped at his friend again, interrupting the complaints Eddie was directing at Jane. “I’m pissed off. They blew up my house, they shot at my wife. My own company.”_

_“If she works for who the street says she works for…” Eddie shook his head. “You’re Macy’s and Gimbels’. Then she would be the WE channel, and you would be… whatever channel competes against the WE channel. Know what I’m saying? The point is simple. Once you guys get off the reservation, that’s it. Then you’re off the reservation.”_

_John grimaced, then asked him, “Eddie, how bad?”_

_“How bad is it?” Eddie shrugged again, and answered pointedly, “You remember Canada.” He nodded as his friend grimaced. “Kids’ stuff next to this.”_

_“That was you?” Jane asked her husband, eyes a little wide._

_“Is that a turn-on?” Eddie blinked at her incredulously, then he looked at his friend. “Didn’t she try to kill you with a car?”_

_John just looked at him again and the other man relented._

_“Sorry, sorry. A good friend stays out of it,” Eddie acknowledged, before soldiering on. “This is the facts. If you two separate from each other, you got a shot. Not a great shot, but a shot.”_

_Jane and John just looked at each other in silence as the other assassin went on._

_“You two stay together… you’re dead.” Eddie shook his head. “Unless you can find something they want more than they want you.”_

 

“And we’re back to the poorly named ‘Tank’ guy again, aren’t we?” Tommy guessed even as they watched a shorter but still touching exchange between Jane and Jasmine, who was helping her friend find the target again.

 

“Yup,” Laurel acknowledged.

 

“But wait,” Tommy frowned then. “Why would they be able to trade him for—well, anything? The two of them being together is still the problem for both their, uh, assassin agencies, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah, but that guy was supposedly the highest priority target of both their agencies, last thing they knew,” Oliver pointed out.

 

“Yeah, but that was all a _trap for them_ ,” Tommy insisted.

 

“They don’t know that,” Felicity reminded him.

 

Making the young man grimace again, but nod with a sigh, “I guess…” he acknowledged as he looked back to the movie to see the couple in an entirely different van with plenty of gear. “Where’d they get all of that?”

 

“They probably both have at least one safe house each nearby,” Oliver pointed out. “They’d have weapons there.”

 

Felicity knew he was right—it was obvious. But it also threw into the realm of obvious that, like her, _he_ might have another safe place to hide in Starling City, other than their base under the nightclub, too.

 

Something they should possible talk about… maybe soon. Or, at the very least, she should get started on setting up other safe places for their team, unconnected to the Queen fortune. And Felicity Smoak. _After_ she fixed all the problems their current base of operations had…

_“Thirty second window,” Jane was telling her husband as he got ready to go in the back of the work van. “I cut the power, you grab the kid. Simple and clean. Got it?”_

_“Got it,” John acknowledged as he finished loading his machine gun. Then he asked her, sounding offhand, “Tell me, how many?”_

_“Does it matter?” Jane asked over her shoulder._

_“Should I go first?” he replied._

_“Okay,” she agreed, facing forward again._

_John nodded, “I don’t exactly keep could, but… I would say… High fifties, low sixties.” He shrugged. “I’ve been around the block, but the important thing is—”_

_“Three-hundred and twelve,” Jane cut in flatly, still looking out the front windshield while her words stopped her husband cold._

_John’s eyes snapped back towards her a second later, eyes wide and staring at the back of her head as he repeated her response, “Three-hundred-twelve?” His mouth worked silently for a moment before he incredulously asked her, “ **How?** ”_

_“Some were two at a time.” Jane shrugged._

_John blinked at her again, then looked down as he tried to process the fact that she’d just confessed to killing over five times as many people as he had. It was clearly a sizeable blow to his ego, but he was trying to take it in, accept it, and process it all the same._

_“Honey?” Jane asked him a longer moment later._

_John shook his head, gesturing to indicate he was still processing the disclosure. “I’m…”_

 

"God, he can't really _not_ count," Tommy objected, frowning at the idea like that was the most relevant reveal from the scene.

 

Felicity would’ve expected Tommy to be more bothered by Missus Smith’s 312 than Mister Smith’s ‘somewhere around sixty.’ Everyone’s minds worked through things in their own way though, and maybe Jane Smith’s methodical mindset—exact number of kills and all—simply made more sense to him than not counting did.

 

To her the extreme disparity sounded both unlikely and illogical. If the assassins’ scheduled had previously matched up so perfectly because they both had to travel about the same amount of time and go out at the same odd times to kill people, the discrepancy between the sheer number of jobs they’d completed—and the lives they’d ended—should be much less than that. It was more likely that Jane counted everybody she killed, not just the target, while John perhaps hadn’t counted his three poker buddies when he’d killed Lucky. Having the couple figure that out, however, wouldn’t be as amusing as the face’s Brad Pitt’s character was making.

 

And it didn’t really matter.

 

What _did_ matter was that that edge of disgust mixed in with Tommy’s disbelief had hurt Oliver. He hadn’t said anything, of course, but she’d felt him stiffen at the words—an instinctive reaction he couldn’t entirely hide in response to what he’d heard in his friend’s voice. Undoubtedly going back to some of the things Tommy had said and how he’d reacted when Oliver had revealed he was the Vigilante to his childhood best friend…

 

Felicity studied Tommy for a long moment—really studied him, weighing her own thoughts on the subject carefully.

 

Simply put, this sort of thing did _not_ fit into the black-and-white world that children were taught to believe in. Adults in the real world knew that the moral high ground also had dirty underground—a disgusting underbelly close to Hell where everything immoral thing came out from. But those immoral things were also parts of the world that helped make up the hill that was never staying still. So anyone who was higher up on that hill had to stand on all of that—immoralities and all. And the hill, like all the world over, was always moving, so no one could ever stay up there at the top—assuming they ever even made it all the way there in the first place. Most people could only keep trying to climb it, trying to not get caught up in the dirt and muck while they tried to be or at least become a better person every day.

 

Some days, though, didn’t allow that.

 

Sometimes it really was kill or be killed.

 

And some people couldn’t handle that.

 

That wasn’t what Oliver’s friends needed to hear right now, though, so instead she went with something simpler that’d hopefully be a lot easier for Tommy to swallow in the moment, and shouldn’t seem too strange to Laurel, either. “Moral dilemmas are tricky like that, Tommy. When you know something's wrong, but you have reasons to do it anyway, you rationalize. You make it right. Doing wrong isn't supposed to feel good, but there are times those wrongs have to be done. And sometimes doing the right thing can feel really wrong, too.”

 

Oliver hadn’t reacted at all to her words, seeming just listening, watching the movie, or both. But that in itself was a reaction.

 

Laurel had shot her a puzzled frown at first, but turned back to the movie with a more thoughtful furrow on her brow about halfway through. She’d nodded once or twice, too.

 

Tommy had blinked at her more than once, but he had been listening. He hadn’t rejected her words out of hand. “Well, yeah,” he allowed as soon as she finished. Then he shook his head. “But killing people without even counting them?”

 

“Maybe he did, to start with,” Felicity shrugged, and leaned back into Oliver’s form again to encourage him to relax after his friend’s comment had cut too close to home again. “Maybe it bothered him more than he’ll admit, so he stopped keeping track.”

 

“Jane’s company probably kept track for her, too,” Laurel pointed out realistically. “They kept track of everything else, after all. Though they missed the fact that one of their assassins had married another assassin for more six years…”

 

“I don’t know,” Oliver disagreed, his tone light even though some of that tension at his friend’s earlier disapproval was still there. Not all, but some. “She’s pretty competitive.”

 

“In that job, she’s probably had to be,” Laurel frowned.

 

Oliver didn’t disagree with that, “With that company, probably.”

 

He hadn’t quite managed to keep his dislike out of his voice, which his ex-girlfriend was clearly reading as something against the female assassin. Felicity thought it had more to do with said company itself and something it reminded him from. Possibly something to do with _ARGUS_ and the history he had with them.

 

“I guess I shouldn’t complain about that,” Tommy sighed, shaking his head. “I mean, I can’t even see how they can _kill_ someone and not care. Let alone, like, four-hundred people, all together.”

 

“Probably more than that now,” Oliver pointed out, almost off-handedly, though there was still too much tension in his shoulders.

 

“Yeah, they’ve had to kill a lot of people in the last few scenes,” Felicity acknowledged with another shrug. “Can’t say I’ve been counting how many though,” she admitted, now laying her head on Oliver’s shoulder to look up at him, meeting his eyes upside down.

 

“No, me neither,” Oliver agreed, giving her a small but warm smile that she could see in his gaze, too.

 

“It’s not the same thing,” Laurel insisted as she set the remote down, having grabbed it to press pause just then. “All of those people were trying to kill them. That’s self-defense.”

 

Felicity almost didn’t say anything, but the point was right there to be made. “But if either one of them had just bitten the bullet and killed the other, or themselves, all of those other people would still be alive.” Suicide or harming a loved one were not things she’d ever come even close to advocating; she could barely believe she’d been able to get the words out evenly.

 

“Bitten the…” Laurel trailed off with a blink, though it took her only that long to realize the other woman was playing devil’s advocate now. “They love each other. Of course they don’t want to hurt each other.”

 

“And they want to protect each other, too,” Felicity nodded in agreement.

 

“Yeah, yeah, that all makes sense,” Tommy also nodded, then grimaced. “Still can’t say how easy they made their job look. Or that it’s so easy for them to accept it.”

 

Felicity waited till he stopped talking, nodding along like she was really listening all that closely to what he was saying, then she said, “They’ve been doing it a long time, Tommy.” She cocked her head to the side as she asked him, “Back before you started dating Laurel, how many other women expected you to call them the next day? Or tried to call you, but didn't have the right number?”

 

Laurel snorted, the other woman obviously realizing the trap her boyfriend had caught himself in but deciding not to help, some combination of feministic loyalty and some still lingering aggravation at the secrets her boyfriend wasn’t telling her keeping the lawyer from even considering rescuing him. Not surprising, but not a setback either, since the other woman was at least amused—not stewing in her own head.

 

Oliver was quiet and still again, but not too tense like he’d been before. Undoubtedly glad he’d decided to keep quiet before, too.

 

“I...” Tommy floundered, his headshake hesitant as he stared at her, flabbergasted. “That-That's not—”

 

“That same thing?” Felicity guess, then she raised an eyebrow at him. “Why not? Wasn't it wrong to hurt those women?”

 

“Well, I-I mean I never _hurt_ them,” Tommy insisted, frowning. “They knew my reputation, Felicity. Just like they knew Ollie’s.”

 

Felicity saw Oliver’s wince in her peripheral vision, but she ignored it, just like she ignored the other former playboy trying to throw her own boyfriend under the bus in self-defense. “Doesn’t mean they didn’t give you their phone numbers _hoping_ you would call them,” she told him firmly. “And odds are that at least a few of them _did_ feel hurt when they never heard from you again.”

 

Tommy stared at her for a very long moment, then he sighed. “…You’re right,” he relented, swallowing slowly. “Never really thought of it that way, but you’re right, I guess.”

 

Felicity nodded in acceptance of that. She was probably pretty close to pushing it enough to make Oliver feel like he needed to intervene, so she let it go at that. She didn’t like it when Tommy made the archer feel bad for not being the same boy he once was, but both those boys—and both men—had their own faults. It’d just be nice if they tried to remember that.

 

Laurel was frowning as she glanced between her boyfriend and the blonde, clearly catching that there was an undercurrent there she couldn’t understand. But after a few seconds more of silence she picked up the remote and pressed play again.

_John seemed to be crawling through a sewer pipe now. “You monitoring the perimeter?” he asked his wife via the communications device in his ear._

_“I checked the perimeter,” Jane confirmed back in the van._

_“What about the police bands?” he asked, grimacing as he kept crawling through the disgusting sewer sludge._

_“I’m on the police bands.”_

_“Connected—”_

_“This is **not** my first time,” Jane reminded him, just a little sharply as her patience at what she saw as him double-checking her reached its limit. Not seeming to realize he was just distracting himself from the disgusting situation he was in at the moment._

_“Think we established that,” John grumble, making his wife smirk._

_After a few more moments of listening to him crawl, Jane told him, “All right. Turn left.” She frowned when the tracker he was wearing didn’t show him listening to her. “ **Left** , John. Left.”_

_In the sewer tunnel, John’s own patience finally snapped, and he actually took off his comm. device to look into the camera. “You don’t need to talk to me like that,” he told her. “Okay? Be nice.”_

_“Left, **please?** ” Jane tried, not quite sarcastically._

_“I can’t go left,” John told her, aiming the camera at what was to his immediate left: the wall of the disgusting sewer pipe he was crawling through. “See? There is no left. I have straight, or back the way I came. There’s no left. Which way do you want?”_

_“Just stay where you are and wait for my mark,” Jane told him, attempting to figure out what her scan of the building and the tracking device together had gotten wrong._

_“See what I’m sitting in?” John directed the camera at the sewage. “You see that?” he complained as he looked into the camera again. “Take your time.”_

_“Yeah, all right! Stay.” Jane retorted, still working on the computer. “Stay there, wait for my mark. I’ll find it.”_

_Back in the sewage tunnel, John obeyed for barely a second before he started crawling back the way he’d come._

_“Wait for my mark. Almost there.” Jane was saying, still typing on her laptop. “I don’t know what happened. Just hold on.” It was only then that she noticed he wasn’t remotely obeying her anymore. “John, hold on,” she protested as her camera showed that he was somehow getting out of the sewage pipe now. “John, what are you doing? What are you doing?”_

_“Cut the lights on my signal,” John told her in response as he took his machine gun off his back and started making his way into the building proper. “Now. Kill the lights.”_

_Jane was typing even more frantically than before, trying to speed through all the steps she hadn’t had ready to go yet because they weren’t supposed to be doing the job this way. She grimaced at the sudden sound of gunfire._

_“Jane, kill the lights!” John snapped then._

**_Bang! Bang! Bang!_ **

_A moment later the lights did go out._

_But apparently John wasn’t wearing night-vision goggles so he was left as blind as everyone else. Probably because he’d skipped putting said goggles on when he deviated from their original plan. And he’d already lost the element of surprise, so the gunshots continued in the dark._

**_Bang! Bang! Bang!_ **

_“Turn ‘em back on!” John demanded._

**_Bang! Bang! Bang!_ **

_There was more gunfire through the comm. as Jane again struggled to comply as quickly as she could. “Idiot!” she hissed furiously even as she completed the task of rapidly reversing her own work and then continued to try and keep up with her husband more roughshod version of kidnapping allegedly their high-value target._

 

Felicity really wanted to say something about why it was important to listen to your tech support person, especially when she was your girlfriend—or in John Smith’s case, his wife—but that’d probably a little too much for Tommy since he was already having issues hiding the secret from Laurel.

 

So she just looked up at Oliver as the gun battle continued, and wasn’t too surprised to find him looking straight back at her again.

 

He was wearing that warm look that wasn’t quite a smile already when their eyes met for a few more moments.

 

Before they both looked back to the television as soon as the gunfire stopped with the scene change.

 

_“This guy’s a wily one,” John told his wife as he tossed the now captured ‘Tank’ off of his shoulder and into the cage they’d had ready for him in the back of the new professional van they’d gotten from somewhere._

_Then they were both in the front, with Jane driving the van somewhere. Clearly she’d bitten her tongue until then, but it finally came out, “You didn’t wait for my signal.”_

_“I improvised,” John shrugged._

_“You deviated from the plan.”_

_“Plan was flawed,” her husband told her._

_“The plan was not flawed.” Jane snapped._

_“Anal,” John shot back._

_“Organized,” his wife told him._

_John sighed then. “Jane, ninety percent of this job is instinct.”_

_“Your instincts set off alarms,” she snapped angrily, clearly very upset with him._

_“And got the job done,” John told her. “Not The Jane Show—”_

_“No, it was The John Show,” his wife cut him off even more angrily, though she kept attacking him on his lack of professionalism rather than just admitting she’d been terrified he was going to get himself killed. “Half-assed. Like Christmas. Our anniversary. The time you forgot my mother’s birthday present.”_

_That one made John blink at her, before he pointed out defensively, “Your **fake** mother’s birthday present!”_

_“You are always the first to break team,” Jane complained._

_And her husband sighed, shaking his head. “You don’t want a team. You want a servant for hire.”_

_Jane shook her head and told him firmly, “I want someone I can count on.”_

_John sighed even more heavily, “Jane, there’s no **air** around you anymore.”_

_She frowned at him, “Okay, what is that supposed to mean?”_

_“It means there’s no room for mistakes, no mistakes whatsoever,” John told her. “No spontaneity. Who can answer to that?”_

_Jane bit out, “Well, you don’t have to. ‘Cause this isn’t even a real marriage.”_

_John blinked at her, hurt._

_But an incredulous question from the back interrupted them then. “ **Who are** you people?”_

_“ **Shut up!** ” both assassins snapped back at him._

 

Felicity had noticed Laurel shifting uncomfortably as John was making his case, and was somewhat pleased to see her frowning now. Because if she was willing to at least try talking to Tommy, seeing what he was willing to tell her rather than focusing on what he wasn’t, the couple might be able to make it past this rough spot they were in.

 

And, to be fair to Tommy, it wasn’t like Laurel hadn’t kept some dangerous secrets of her own before. That she didn’t now know her working with the vigilante previously and not telling Tommy about it was making her a bit of a hypocrite now was much more obvious if you knew both sides of the secrets, of course, but it was still there…

 

The Immortal looked back at the movie before the other woman could catch her watching.

_They were now in what looked like a motel room, Jane sitting on the bed while ‘Tank’ was again cuffed to a chair and John was sitting in another chair in front of him._

_“Okay. So, now I realize you witnessed the missus and I working through some domestic issues. That’s regrettable,” John was telling him. “But don’t take that as a sign of weakness. That would be a mistake.” He paused seriously to make sure that message got through even as Jane started tapping her fingers impatiently on the bedside table. “Now, tell us what you know. Why do both our bosses want you dead?”_

_The kid only shrugged, not doing a very good job of hiding the fact that he knew something—not even trying to convince them he didn’t._

_“You underst…” John trailed off to look at his wife. “Honey. Please?”_

_Jane stopped tapping her fingers, but told him, “Wrap it up.”_

_“Maybe it’s not a good idea to undermine me in front of the hostage. Sends a mixed message,” he told her, not seeming to notice that said ‘hostage’ was nodding along in his own agreement._

_“Sorry,” Jane obliged._

_“Girls,” John shrugged at the younger man, before going on more seriously. “Okay. Where was I?”_

_“A mistake on your part,” ‘Tank’ told him helpfully._

_“Shut up,” John ordered, then started listing, “Options. I’m going lay out your options for you. Option A…”_

_“If I could…” ‘Tank’ tried._

_“Shut up,” John told him again. “Option A. You talk, we listen, no pain. Option B. You don’t talk, I remove your thumbs with my pliers. It will hurt. Option C… I like to vary the details a bit, but the punch line is, you die.”_

_‘Tank’ nodded slowly, but didn’t try to say anything then._

_“Benjamin?” John pressed after a moment of silence. “We’re impatient people, Benjamin.”_

 

“See? We could’ve just been calling him Benjamin, this whole time.” Tommy pointed out. “He looks like a Benjamin. Or Ben.”

 

Everyone else just chuckled at slight break in tension, even as the young man’s foolish request for a soda didn’t go so well for him.

 

_“A! Option A!” Benjamin cried out after Jane had nailed him in the head with the motel rooms’ telephone. “ **Ow** , that **hurt!** ”_

_“Okay, that was a nice shot,” John admitted when his wife looked at him._

_Jane smiled in response; clearly pleased with herself._

_John was still smiling a little, too, as he looked back at Benjamin in time to see the kid fidgeting in a way that didn’t make sense as a reaction to the phone-to-the-head. “What’s…” he mimicked the odd half-shrug with his own shoulder. “You got a spasm?”_

_“I’m tied up,” the kid grunted, then sighed. “Why don’t you check my back pocket?”_

_Both assassins stared at him a second, but then Jane stepped towards him, giving his head a little shove as she did so. She pulled a piece of paper out of his back pocket, and then stared as she unfolded it._

_John got up to go look at what’d so surprised her. And it was clearly a very unpleasant surprise for him, too._

_“I’m not the target. You are.” Benjamin told them. “Both of you.”_

_The camera went to the picture they were both staring at now—and it was indeed a picture of the Smiths while they were together somewhere, possibly traveling._

_“They found out you’re married. So they teamed up and sent you to the same hit.” Benjamin went on while Jane handed the paper to her husband. “It was a joint task force, both companies.” He shrugged when both assassins finally looked back at him. “Two competing agents living under the same roof? It’s bad for business,” he told them. “They wanted you to take each other out.”_

_“You were the bait,” John said, sitting down on the bed with a sigh as he realized that kidnapping him hadn’t done them any good at all._

_“Well, it’s entry level. Toehold into the company. Couple hits, they bump me up to a desk,” Benjamin shrugged, nodding to himself. “It’s pretty cool, actually.”_

_John frowned at him. “You kept the photo in your pocket?”_

_“Was I supposed to frame it?” the younger man asked sarcastically._

_“You get rid of it. You burn it. Tradecraft 1-O-1.”_

_Benjamin rolled his eyes. “Guess I skipped that day. Just like I guess you two skipped that day about not marrying the enemy.”_

_Jane turned her frown towards him again then, “You were the bait, or you **are** the bait?”_

_John immediately scowled at the kid, who was biting his lip, again not even really trying to pretend she hadn’t come to the correct conclusion. When the older man got up with a clenched fist, he barely had to even raise it in threat before the kid gave in._

_“ **Belt!** ” Benjamin told him, flinching away. “Belt, belt, dude.”_

_John undid the belt buckle, flipping it open to reveal the tracking device blinking away inside. He looked over at Jane then. “Two minutes.”_

_Jane, who was looking out the window at approaching lights, disagreed, “One minute.”_

 

“Why wouldn’t they have attacked a lot sooner than that?” Tommy wondered, shaking his head. “I mean, if they had the tracker on Benny-boy there, they must’ve known about it as soon as he was taken, right?”

 

“Tracking and attacking a moving target’s much harder than a stationary one,” Oliver replied, not bothering to point out the fact that the assassins’ attackers had previously already tried to take them out in the previous chase scene and failed spectacularly. Then he quickly added, “I mean, I’d assume it is.”

 

“It also makes sense for the movie, so just go with it, Tommy,” Felicity told him teasingly. “You’re supposed to suspend your disbelief for movies, don’t you know that?”

 

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean I just stop thinking.”

 

“No, me neither,” Felicity acknowledged, but turned back to the television as all the stomping of the black-ops people seemed to taper off.

 

_The two assassins were somehow now hiding underground, peering up at the people searching for them through a thick grate in the ground._

_After a few moments, Jane told her husband softly, “My way out is a boat standing by in La Paz.”_

_“Cargo drop, Atlas Mountains,” John responded, then frowned. “So what?”_

_His wife sighed. “So at least apart we know what the odds are.” She shook her head when his frown deepened. “Let’s just call this what it is. And what is isn’t.”_

_John’s frown became a full blown scowl. “All right, so it’s a crap marriage. All right, I’m a mess, you’re a disaster. We’re both liars.”_

_Jane didn’t even attempt to argue any of that, even as she watched her husband shaking his head._

_“But you run, you’ll always be running,” John told her. “I saw we stay and fight. We finish this. Then if you want to go, you can go.”_

_“Well, thank you,” Jane replied softly, half in jest._

_John just looked back through the grate as he repeated her earlier words, “‘Let’s call this what is it,’” he sighed, and then swore, “Jesus Christ…”_

 

Felicity was a little surprised to find herself swallowing, something in that whole dialogue striking deep.

 

Maybe it was the very truth of it all?

 

Everything about escapes and always running wasn’t shocking to her. It couldn’t be. Escape and evasion were, at times, necessary skills for an Immortal to have, and Methos had been an excellent teacher. He’d taught her how to fight, and how to move on and live, too, but _survival_ had always been right at the very core of all his lessons.

 

But that simple honesty was not hidden by the humor that all the earlier confessions had been submerged in, and that made it all the more poignant.

 

“You okay?” Oliver’s quiet query was barely a murmur in her ear, but it was enough to bring her back out of her head before she started drowning in even deeper wells of thought.

 

Felicity leaned back a little to look up at him again, meeting his eyes for another moment before she made herself nod. “Yeah,” she answered just as softly as he’d asked. “I’m fine.”

 

Oliver didn’t look like he believed her, but he didn’t say anything as she looked back at the movie yet again. He did, however, press another gentle kiss into her hair.

 

It helped. A lot.

 

_Now the pair had somehow found their way from the storm drain to breaking into a large department store. There the final showdown with both their former employers occurred—and with both Smiths starting to work really well together their attackers didn’t stand a chance. Not when it was a fair bet that each had probably been one of the best their company had…_

_“How’s it look?” John asked as his wife quickly bandaged his shoulder, where a bullet had caught him earlier._

_“It’s a piece of cake,” Jane told him as she finished tying it off._

_Her husband nodded in agreement and handed her yet another gun he’d pulled off one of their countless fallen adversaries. “Watch these, they tend to jam. So watch ‘em.”_

_“You favor your left, sweetheart,” Jane said in response. “So I’ll cover right.”_

_They just looked at each other for a long moment, then John sighed. “Damn, that boat in La Paz is looking pretty good right now, isn’t it?_

_Jane just shrugged, “Well, it rains a lot this time of year.” She smiled when he blinked at her. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here, with you.”_

_John couldn’t help but smile back even as he told her, “Shut up.”_

_Then they burst out of the bulletproof box they’d been hiding in—and summarily slaughtered everyone there._

 

“And now they’re back at the shrink’s,” Tommy commented, laughing a little long with the rest of them as the scene changed to show the couple back again in the same chairs they’d started the movie in. “Fitting.”

 

And it really was, all things considered.

 

But everyone else was just watching, no other comments to add, so Felicity kept watching, too.

 

_The couple looked a lot more comfortable together in front of their psychiatrist now—and it wasn’t just because no one was shooting at them anymore. Clearly Doctor Wexler was right, and they had worked through many of their ‘issues.’_

_“Doing alright, aren’t we?” John nodded his agreement, still exchanging smiles with his wife instead of staring at the specialist like they’d both been at the start of the movie. “I’m not gonna lie to you, there were time when I wanted to…” he made a gesture of snapping something with his hands—likely implying her neck. “Kill her, but—”_

_“Likewise,” Jane admitted, still smiling._

_“Couldn’t take the shot,” John smiled back._

_“Well, that’s a good sign,” Doctor Wexler chuckled._

_And the couple exchanged a few more words with double-meanings that their marriage counselor couldn’t hope to comprehend, before Wexler, who was audibly happy for them, offered his counsel._

_“You know there will always be challenges? Threats out there?” He went on as both of his patients nodded. “But you can handle it together.”_

_“So far,” John nodded._

_“Yes, we can,” Jane agreed, then blinked at her husband as she realized what his response had been. “‘So far?’ What is that?” she asked him with a laugh._

_“I’m leaving room for the unknown.” John spread his hands._

_Jane just kept laughing lightly, undoubtedly thinking that anything else that may come their way in the future could never hope to compare to what they’ d already overcome. “‘So far…’”_

_“And do you feel your relationship styles are more conducive to this—”_

_“Ask us the sex question,” John interrupted, ignoring his wife’s soft chastisement even as the doctor—for the first time in the movie—fumbled his words._

_“Uh—Well, that’s…”_

_Not waiting to see if Wexler could get the words out, John raised both his hands, all five fingers on each hand up as he mouthed the answered._

_And with some more dramatic music, the movie ended there._

 

“Whoo, well, that was a pretty great movie,” Tommy opined as the credits started rolling, looking over as his girlfriend with his nervousness almost hidden. “Great choice, Laurel.”

 

“I’m glad you guys were finally able to watch it with me,” Laurel answered softly, then looked at Felicity. “Thank you for having us over for this.”

 

“Happy to, this was fun.” Felicity responded easily, offering them a soft smile. “Anyone want coffee? Or tea?”

 

“No,” Laurel answered before her boyfriend could. “I—um,” she hesitated as she glanced at Tommy. “I think we have some things we need to talk about. Now.”

 

Tommy swallowed slowly, but then nodded his agreement. “Yeah, I think we do,” he agreed, looking a little shaky as he pushed himself to his feet and offered his girlfriend a hand only a little hesitantly.

 

Felicity didn’t let herself breathe a sigh of relief as she watched Laurel accept the help, though she felt the breath Oliver released.

 

Neither of the pair seemed to notice. They were too busy staring at each other, trying to figure out what they were doing next.

 

“You’re okay to drive, right?” Felicity interjected, because staring at each other in uncertain hope was only a good thing so long as it didn’t have time to turn into too much uncertainty and hopelessness.

 

“What?” Laurel blinked at her, then quickly nodded. “Yeah, I…” she trailed off with an indecisive frown. “How much wine did I have?”

 

“More than me, I’ll drive,” Tommy told her, adding when she blinked at him. “If that’s okay?”

 

Not really something he should be backing down on if the brunette was even a little tipsy, but then the lawyer shouldn’t say no, either.

 

Fortunately, Laurel knew that, too, because she was nodding before he’d even finished asking. “Yeah, yeah, that’s okay.”

 

“Great,” Felicity enthused as she finally made herself stand up—not any easy thing to do when she was so comfortable sitting there in Oliver’s arms, but he stood up too, and immediately wrapped his arm around her shoulders again. “Thanks so much for coming over. It was fun. We should do it again sometime. Maybe with something even more lighthearted?” she glanced back—and now up, since they were standing and she didn’t have heels on—at Oliver. “Have you seen _The Princess Bride_?”

 

He blinked back at her. “That was out way before _The Gambit_ , Felicity,” the archer told her with that little smile she could usually manage to draw out of him at least once a day now.

 

“Yeah, but have you seen it?” she kept pressing.

 

“He’s seen it,” Tommy answered for him with a light laugh, and when she looked back at him and Laurel both of them were giving her fond smiles of their own. “Wasn’t that Thea’s favorite movie forever?”

 

“Yeah, it was,” Oliver agreed, and told her. “So yeah, I’ve seen it. Several times.”

 

“It’s a great movie,” Laurel interjected, “I’d be willing to watch it again.” She raised an eyebrow at Oliver. “I thought you liked the sword fights?”

 

“I did. The first hundred times.” He replied, then she could feel his shrug through the arm he still had wrapped around her. “But it’s been a while since I last saw it. I wouldn’t mind watching it again, either.”

 

“Well, I just like the _Criminal_ _Minds_ guy, but yeah, I’d watch it again,” Tommy agreed with a shrug.

 

It seemed like an odd favorite for Tommy after he had such a hard time understanding this movie’s characters being capable of killing so easily. And Oliver killing at all.

 

But then his mother had been murdered when he was younger, so the very lighthearted movie’s character seeking out the man who’d murdered his father probably wrung a chord with him as a child and still did now.

 

And wasn’t that an interesting look into his inner child’s ideas about justice? It made her wonder if he saw justice and vengeance as the same thing now, as similar things, or entirely different ones. Now wasn’t the time to ask about such things either…

 

“Great,” Felicity nodded, smiling at the other couple. “We’ll have to figure out a good time then.”

 

“And invite Thea, too,” Laurel suggested, still smiling a little. “She must still like it. I do.”

 

“It’ll be fun to make her admit it,” Oliver allowed, making everyone laugh.

 

As the laughter died down again, though, Tommy hesitantly indicated the doorway. “Well, we should probably get going then. Thanks for having us, Felicity. And thanks for the Italian, Ollie.”

 

“You’re welcome,” the Immortal replied, while Oliver—who was still holding her—simply nodded his own acknowledgement.

 

They showed the couple out, watching them walk all the way to their car, with Tommy opening and closing the passenger’s door for Laurel before rounding the car to get in the driver’s seat as planned.

 

Felicity did spot her neighbor looking out his living room window, but pretended not to notice as she and Oliver returned the other couple’s final waives.

 

Nick had been home for a while now, and he wasn’t in a good mood at all—his Quickening was much more volatile than he normally ever was—but with Oliver still here the detective couldn’t come storming over here even if he wanted to. So he’d wait…

 

Something to look forward to. _Joy_.

 

Felicity finally stopped waving and let herself close the front door once the other couple's car had pulled away from the curb. "Okay," she sighed, turning back to Oliver with her head shaking as she looked up at him. "Maybe that wasn't such a good idea."

 

"No," Oliver replied evenly, also shaking his head but smiling. "It was." He put his other arm around her, pulling her closer for a gentle but very warm hug. "Thank you for trying to help."

 

Felicity sighed into his chest, “I had to try. Don’t know how much it helped them though…”

 

Yes, both Laurel and Tommy had agreed that they needed to talk. But talking about talking and actually talking were two entirely different things.

 

“I know it’s hard on him, keeping my secret from her,” the archer admitted as he let her go, but he held onto her hand to pull her back to the couch they didn’t have to share anymore but would. “And Laurel will keep pushing. She’s always been like that,” he shook his head. “Tommy takes it better than I _ever_ did…”

 

Felicity could understand where he was coming from. It’d been a long time since she was _actually_ young, in any sense of the word, save for her ever-ageless body—but she remembered some of the mistakes she’d made back then. What Oliver didn’t seem to realize, though, was that he had matured, which meant it countless ways that he _wasn’t_ at all the irresponsible boy he used to be. Not anymore…

 

“It’s easy to just tune it out, but that doesn’t actually work,” Oliver admitted as he sat down, wrapping his arm around her again as she took her seat next to him once more. “They needed this.”

 

Felicity nodded in concurrence. “What about you and Tommy?” she asked softly, leaning into him as soon as she'd sat down behind him.

 

“Tommy and I...” Oliver trailed off, visibly thinking about it. Then he sighed again. “I didn't realize it would hurt him, that I'd been keeping something so big a secret from him. I never wanted him to know in the first place,” he clarified, and she could feel him shaking his head slowly as his chin brushed through her hair a few times. “I wanted to keep my life and my mission separate.”

 

Again, Felicity nodded her understanding, and then she gently reminded him, "But your mission's part of your life."

 

"Yeah," he sighed heavily. "Yeah it is."

 

"And now Tommy knows that," she pointed out gently, shaking her head. "You can't take that back, you can only move forward. And if you still want Tommy to go on being your friend—"

 

"Of course I still want him to be my friend," Oliver interrupted with a frown that she couldn’t see but could hear in his voice. “But it’s not—”

 

"It’s that simple if you _make_ it that simple, Oliver. You just have to keep talking to him. You have to let him in," Felicity insisted resolutely, shaking her head again. "It doesn't have to be everything. But it does need to be something."

 

She’d told Tommy basically the same thing not long ago, because it was a bit of wisdom that she knew all too well was true; even if she was having some trouble following her own advice…

 

Oliver nodded slowly, still frowning. "But Tommy's—"

 

"Do you trust him?" Felicity shifted so that she could look back at him, holding his eyes.

 

"Yes," he answered immediately.

 

"Do you believe he'll continue to listen to you, to all of us, about all of this?"

 

Oliver hesitated a moment, then sighed. "…I think so?"

 

"Then you can tell him some things." Felicity repeated. "And there's no reason to keep him out of the basement, either. Even when you’re out under The Hood."

 

It wasn’t something the archer had brought up yet, but she fully expected him to. Especially after he’d found Tommy downstairs as the Huntress’s hostage not too long ago. Better to nip it in the bud before he made the objection at just the wrong time.

 

"If he doesn't know much, he'll be safer—"

 

"Plausible deniability went out the window as soon as you took off the Hood in front of him, Oliver. And even before that, it's not always a rock-solid legal defense. Proving you didn't know something is always a lot harder than proving you did, and there's always the chance that prosecution could argue that you _should_ have known, too."

 

The vigilante was quiet through her whole ramble, but he nodded slowly as soon as she finished. “It’s not easy for me,” he told her. “Sharing secrets.”

 

Felicity didn't let herself wince. She had more than a few really big secrets of her own, but this wasn’t about her right now. “I think everyone feels that way about some secrets, Oliver,” she told him softly. “Some of them are just bigger than others.”

 

“Yeah,” Oliver grimaced, shaking his head. “Well, mine are pretty big—and not very pretty.”

 

“Tommy understands that, just like Digg and I do,” Felicity told him, going on firm but soft even as he looked back at her again. “But that’s the thing, Oliver. Most secrets? They don’t _matter_ as much as the choice to keep or share them does.”

 

She managed to say the wise words, even though each one made her think the word ‘hypocrite’ over and over again.

 

After all, Oliver had already told her that what Tommy had seemed to be the most upset by was the fact that the archer hadn’t planned on ever telling him the truth. Tommy had told her that, too. It might get in with all the other problems he had with the vigilantism and Oliver’s many secrets, but it was the first and the strongest. To Tommy it was the one that mattered most, and the one that Oliver had to address, whether the two men would admit to it or not. So she wasn’t going to let Oliver forget it, and she didn’t care how hypocritical that was coming from her.

 

“Never thought of it that way,” Oliver admitted, and he was smiling softly at her when she looked back at him again. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

 

Felicity nodded, still looking up at him. “Thank you.”

 

“No,” he told her, shifting to cup her cheek with the hand that wasn’t already gently shifting her closer. “Thank you.”

 

Felicity swallowed, but went along with it with barely a thought, leaning into his hold as he guided her chin so their mouths could meet so smoothly it was like they’d planned it that way. Or they both had a lot more practice with kissing in general than she could think about when his lips were moving against hers.

 

He was smiling, she realized—as their mouths moved against each other she could feel it—and that made her smile into the kiss, too. Happy.

 

They’d kiss before, though her new boyfriend’s lips had sought her forehead frequently more than her lips. They’d made out before now, too, but he usually pulled back before things got too heated. Despite the fact that they had already been on one real date now, which was supposedly what he’d said was holding him back—him wanting to be better than the boy he once was because she deserved better than that. The thought was almost enough to make her growl in frustration, but Oliver wasn’t pulling away yet, and she was going to savor every second he was willing to give her…

 

Then Oliver’s lips were opening a little, and his teeth were nipping lightly at her lower lip—tiny teases between the slowly deepening press of his lips on hers.

 

 _Gods_ , it was **_great_** …

 

But it only made her want _more_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, the movie’s wrapped up! And Tommy and Laurel look to be headed in a better direction, too—not necessarily a major plus with them since the show tended to toss them all over the place for dramatic effect as the writers leisure, but I am trying to be more thoughtful than that.  
> One note from within the chapter that I probably don’t need to say but I will: I do not have a law degree. I have no idea if any of the stuff Felicity said about plausible deniability would be considered true. It just makes sense to me, and it made sense coming from her, so there it is.  
> And finally—Felicity’s POV became a 2-parter here for mainly two reasons. One, the second half is not done yet and I don’t want to post it until it’s as close to perfect as I can get it. And two—and this should be obvious—but note the rating change. It’s due to the next chapter specifically. We have jumped from Teen+ to Explicit, for just the next part. If Explicit Olicity is not your cup of tea, I’d skip Part 5 and wait for Part 6, which will be Oliver’s POV the morning after and while that’s more mature than our original rating here, too, it’s not nearly as intense. I can’t suggest skipping Part 6 because some of the conversation happening there will be semi-important. Of course, I wouldn’t skip Part 5 either, but that’s me. I might, however, appreciate the warning because I might be more selective of when and where I’d read it. So, there: you’ve been warned.  
> And yes, I’m aiming to have the next part done by next Tuesday. I’m on my summer schedule now, so Monday-Tuesday is basically my weekend. Ergo, most of my updates will probably be on Tuesdays for the next few weeks. Hopefully once a week or better…  
> Hope everyone liked this. Comments, suggestions, constructive criticisms et al are always appreciated! :-)  
> More to come soon! :-D  
> ~ Jess S


	5. Web of Lies - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: *Looks at date of last update…* >_<* *sighs*  
> Sorry for the delay, everyone. It really wasn’t planned. Summer can get really hectic for me—it’s when I work the most overtime AND it’s when all my relatives visit, so it’s a double whammy.  
> AND Game of Throne’s started up again, so that’s at least another whole night each week when my muses are much too distracted to come up with anything on their own. Though strangely enough I haven’t felt the urge to write any GOT fan fics… then again, I haven’t read any good ones, either. Love the show, but it’s a bit odd for me to really like something that doesn’t also make me want to write something…  
> On top of all that, as I’ve said before, I hadn’t written this story ahead of time, so it wasn’t just proofing, adding a little here, subtracting some there, scrambling some more all over the place—that really is how I’ve tended to work with this series for the most part. Until I get to these areas where my muses suddenly decide: Hey! This one-shot should be a short story! And then I have to actually write the other scenes… *sigh*  
> Okay, I’m done whining. I guess.  
> Sorry for the wait. Really. It was not planned.  
> But please the warning, and then enjoy the story. ;-)

XXX.

**_ DO NOT SKIP THIS! _ **

**_ WARNING _ ** **_: This is a continuation of the previous scene. Where Oliver & Felicity were making out, & it ended with Felicity thinking she was ready for more. Where THAT’S going should be pretty obvious. It’s also why this story’s rating has jumped up to Mature, but should probably be EXPLICIT for this part... I don't know. Let me know if I should up the rating more, please. _**

**_Of If this is not your cup of cocoa—or you’re not somewhere you’re comfortable reading that—you CAN skip to the final scene, which will be Oliver’s POV the next morning and not quite as…um… something. That one will be mostly talking. Even though they’re in bed the whole time then, too… So, either way, up to you._ **

XXX.

 ** _(5) Web of Lies – Part 2_**.

_ Felicity Smoak’s P.O.V. _

 

It’d been _such_ a long time since Felicity had felt like she could go much farther than this if it meant something. If her heart was involved…

 

And it _was_ , so it did. It really, really _did_.

 

She did trust Oliver though, she really _did_ , and that realization startled a soft gasp out of her.

 

Oliver didn’t miss it, and he didn’t hesitate at all: his tongue slipped through her lips as swiftly as any of his arrows flew. He pulled her even closer as he mapped out her mouth. And so he drew her tongue into that same delicate dance they’d tried a few times before in this same room.

 

Though that was on her old couch…

 

Felicity moaned appreciatively as she leaned into him. Not that they could get much closer without climbing into each other. And it was almost a surprise to her that she really, really wanted to.

 

That was why she stopped him when he started to back off, like he had every time their making out on her couch had started to get hotter than he thought they were ready for. Really than he thought _she_ was ready for, though until tonight he’d been right. Or he’d just been waiting for her to say she wanted more.

 

Since her vigilante was suffering under the assumption that he had the most experience out of the two of them. Of course there was no way he could know that that wasn’t true. With his infamous reputation and her well-maintained lack of one, it was a conclusion he all but had to come to. He couldn’t know that his many experiences with women—however many there were—were not more numerous than hers. Only much more recent. She had, after all, likely spent more time _having_ sex over the millennia then he’d yet lived.

 

Much more, maybe, but semantics didn’t matter now either.

 

“Don’t stop,” Felicity murmured the words against his lips as soon as he started to withdraw again. And she forced her eyes open when he drew back a little more anyway.

 

Oliver was looking down at her—his pupils blown wide, like hers had to be, too—and he swallowed once before, “Are you sure?” he asked her, his voice low but warm.

 

To which Felicity could only offer him her warmest smile. “Of course I’m sure.”

 

For a second Oliver only smiled back, then he was kissing her again. Suddenly he surged to his feet, scooping her up into his arms in the same move—and their mouths only came apart because of the giggle he’d surprised out of her. He grinned back at her as she wrapped her arms around his neck, then his lips caught hers again and he was carrying her into the bedroom without even needing his eyes to navigate the way to her bed. He _had_ gotten to know her home fairly well over the last few weeks, and his respectable situational awareness could circumnavigate the new living room furniture easily enough.

 

After watching this amazing man go up and down their salmon ladder—again and again and again—for hours on end, Felicity had no trouble trusting that he wouldn’t drop her. So she focused on sucking his tongue back into her mouth, smiling as his hot breath came in pants that had nothing to do with the physical exertion she doubted he was even noticing.

 

He didn’t even miss a step as he kicked his shoes off on the way there. But when he started to put her down she decided her hands had more important things to be doing than catching herself—namely grabbing his T-shirt to tug it up over his head: and thereby using it to drag him down on top of her.

 

Oliver’s laughter was the lightest she’d ever heard leave his lips as he pulled them away from hers, just so he could free himself from the offending clothing. Leaving him shirtless, and that was how she was quite happily used to seeing him at least half the time anyway.

 

So she wasn’t complaining. At all.

 

The man had a truly _marvelous_ physique.

 

“Glad you approve,” he said with a grin, which made her blink at him.

 

“Did I say all of that out loud?” Felicity asked, only surprised because she hadn’t noticed her mouth moving to make the words.

 

Much as her mouth could sometimes get away from her, especially in lifetimes like this where she hadn’t had to bite her tongue a lot, it still surprised her how comfortable she was with this man. Because she had been from the very start—from that first ridiculous request and that gorgeous smile—somehow she’d just felt she could trust him even then. That feeling had only grown since, all the way into what it was now.

 

“Um-hum,” Oliver’s grin widened while he shook his head. “I can’t go around shirtless all time—the scars tend to scare people. But I’ll keep in mind that you prefer it,” he promised her lightly, and leaned down to catch her mouth with his own again.

 

Felicity pulled back after a quick peck, just to respond. “Well, I’d appreciate that,” she admitted easily, grinning back at him but leaning away when he started towards her on the bed again. “Fair’s fair,” she said, even as she started tugging her own shirt up.

 

Oliver’s arms were around her before she’d finished, his lips catching hers again and distracting her while her shirt was still caught over her eyes like a blindfold. His chuckles mixed with her giggles as their smiles came together again and again, making their lips need to find each other again each time but feeling no less fantastic for it. That round of kisses lasted a good minute before he finally helped her free herself from the blouse so she could toss it aside somewhere—exactly where was entirely unimportant.

 

Then she was falling back onto her comforter, with his body weighing down on top of her: much warmer than any winter blanket as he pressed her down into the bed. When his strong fingers threaded through her hair to zero in on that spot that’d always make her moan she didn’t even try to stop the purr that tumbled from her mouth and into his.

 

Oliver chuckled softly again in response, but his amazing hand never stopped massaging the sensitive spot he’d first found when he’d been helping her take off that wig. Of _course_ he’d noticed, and remembered. Then his mouth was dropping from hers, but her mumble of distracted disappointment became another gasp halfway through as his lips and tongue started attacking her neck.

 

Felicity was so focused on the sensations his hand and mouth were making that she almost didn’t notice when his other hand started on her skirt. Almost: he had it unhooked and unzipped right away, but he couldn’t hope to get the skirt off while he was pressing her down into her cloud-like comforter. Not in one intact piece, anyway, so she had to lift her hips to help him as he slid it down her legs. She frowned a little then, but only because she he hadn’t taken her underwear off in the same smooth move. She couldn’t remedy it right away though: by the time her skirt had made it past her knees, her hands were busy—at war with the buckle of the belt he didn’t really need because his jeans fit him like a second skin.

 

Oliver’s breath was a heady mix with hers as they kept kissing all the while, and another chuckle was his response to her frustrated groan when her success with the belt didn’t help her much with removing the jeans.

 

They’d looked so beautiful on him all evening, but now they were just being damn difficult.

 

“Here,” he said as he tugged his lips free from hers again, grinning at the instant growl that escaped her in response. “Let me.”

 

Felicity’s frown was really more of a pout as she nodded, but she didn’t let herself stop and watch him. She wanted to, but once he lost the blue jeans she’d be wearing more clothes than he was whether he wore boxers or briefs beneath, and a sudden surge of competitiveness—maybe mixed with just how much she _didn’t_ want to stop tonight—had her shimmying out of her silky violet lingerie. Or attempting to: she’d only managed to free herself from the bra and toss it in the same general direction she’d kicked her skirt before he was back.

 

Oliver’s hands caught hers before she could make it to the bottom half of the violet silk set. “Hey, hey, there’s no rush,” he reassured her as he tugged her closer to where he was now kneeling on her bed with not a single stitch of clothing on him anymore as he reminded her with that warm grin, “We’ve got all night.”

 

The competitive streak that was rearing its head tonight would’ve probably had her grumbling a bit at that, if she wasn’t so distracted by how absolutely _gorgeous_ he was.

 

“ _You’re_ the gorgeous one,” Oliver told her, the look on his handsome face as appreciative as the one on her own had to be. His lips caught hers yet again before she could blink, let alone respond.

 

The feeling of his mouth moving over hers again wasn’t something she’d ever forget, but still she wanted to memorize every single mind-blowing second.

 

And that feeling only electrified—a firestorm in her core getting hotter and hotter—as he leaned forward to press her back down into the bed again and she felt his erection against her abdomen.

 

Felicity’s gasp was a mixture of appreciation and relief that they were _finally_ doing this.

 

Maybe it was a bad idea, doing this with him when she still had so many secrets she knew she should tell him. But he had secrets, too, and that helped a little bit… and she needed this—they both did, whether it was fair or wise while they each still had so many secrets they should share or not.

 

Oliver drew back just enough for their eyes to meet again, “You okay?” he asked, checking yet again to make sure she hadn’t changed her damn mind. It was irritating, but also very sweet.

 

Almost sweet enough to not be irritating.

 

Almost.

 

Why was this man who’d infamously had so much experience with women suddenly so unsure around _her?_

 

Asking that, though, would lead to talking—and that wasn’t _at all_ what Felicity wanted to be doing right now. “Um-hum,” she hummed and nodded at the same time, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and the other going up so she could grasp the back of his head to keep him where he was. “ _Don’t_ _stop_ ,” she told him again, almost desperately.

 

So what if they’d only been on a few real dates so far? Before _that_ they’d been dancing around each other for months. Knowing that connection was there for them to seize together now—well, it was impossible not to. And not just because it’d been too damn long for her.

 

Oliver didn’t let her pull him forward right away, he stayed where he was, studying her for a solid frustrating second as some stubborn worries held him statue still even now.

 

Felicity sighed, but then she used her hand holds on his strong form to tug herself up to meet him instead. First pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose, then swallowing the chuckle she’d surprised from him even as he started to kiss her back again.

 

But Oliver was still bracing himself over her, something still making him hesitate—thinking when he should be feeling. Thinking about her or them or who knew what else instead of being here and just _feeling_ with her…

 

Felicity barely even thought about the move before she made it: throwing both her legs wide, and up around his waist to press her core up against him with only that last barrier of violet silk still between them. With how hot and wet she was, he couldn’t possibly think she didn’t want to be doing this. Doing _more_ than this.

 

Oliver finally fell forward on top of her again with another surprised laugh that became a full blown smile when she pressed another quick kiss to the tip of his nose while her mouth was free. And at last, all that tension and hesitation melted away as their mouths came together again. His lips only locked with hers for a second this time, though, before he tensed again. Only this time he was flipping them—one strong hand easily maneuvering her to one side and up while he let himself fall the other way and rolled so that she ended up on top of him.

 

Felicity went with it, yet another actual giggle escaping her halfway through, before they both groaned as she felt his erection pressing right at that damn barrier he hadn’t let her take off earlier. It was thin and silky and absolutely _soaked_ , but it was still there. In the way: between them, like the salt in the middle of the Smith’s dinner table…

 

Oliver’s hands settling on her still silk covered ass, however, distracted her from that half-second of returned irritation. His calluses were a little like sandpaper as those strong hands traced a delicate path up her sides till they found her breasts.

 

Felicity’s eyes dropped closed and her head fell back with an automatic groan as those powerful hands carefully cupped and squeezed in a gentle massage that was quickly making her head spin somewhere up in the atmosphere. She could’ve been lost up there for seconds or only hours for all she knew, before she finally made herself look down at him through her lashes because her eyelids felt too heavy to open them all the way.

 

Deliberately she leaned down, moaning as his hands adjusted but never stopped their own terrific task as she managed to find his lips with her own again. She got in three quick kisses that were each interrupted be the gasps he was drawing from her as expertly as a master musician playing an instrument.

 

With a push that was just as gentle, Oliver made her back straighten again, his masterful manipulations never even slowing. And for another long moment she could only let herself enjoy them, before her hands had to start their own exploration.

 

Felicity didn’t let herself study the scars upon his skin—she’d seen them, and closer study could come later—right now it was all about feeling. Finding the same or more familiarity with her fingers that her eyes had from watching him work out without a shirt all the time. Sliding her fingertips over tattoos and scars alike, mapping out the magnificent muscles he’d put so much worthwhile work and time into…

 

Oliver’s breaths stuttered when her fingertips traced along the amazing ridges of his abs, and as she experimentally repeated the action he couldn’t bite back a little laugh.

 

“Hmm, a little ticklish there, are we?” Felicity asked teasingly, then gasped when he suddenly pinched both her nipples at once.

                                                                       

“We all have our weaknesses,” the vigilante agreed, rolling the already taught nubs between his fingertips a few more times before he let go and spanned his hands across her back instead to tug her down again.

 

Felicity went eagerly, smiling into the kiss yet again, rolling her hips a moment later just to get the groan he gave her. She moaned herself when his instinctive response was his hips rising up to meet her and lifting her up for a few moments, too.

 

Oliver managed that two and a half more equally impressive times before his head fell back into her pillow with a groan. “And you’re definitely mine,” he murmured the words, almost too softly for her to hear him even right on top of him, but she had very sharp ears.

 

So she smiled softly as she cradled his face between her palms for another long, sweet kiss. “You’re my weakness, too,” she told him softly as soon as they’d had to break for air. “And that’s not a bad thing.”

 

He smiled back at her, but it fell into a far more serious, strained look as he told her, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop if we go much farther. If you—”

 

“ _Why_ would I want to stop?” Felicity cut him off, laughing shortly while her eyes seemed to roll all on their own. “I _do not_ want to stop, Oliver. That’s the _last_ thing that I’d want right now,” she said emphatically, then she had to ask him in mild exasperation, “So can I take my underwear off now? _Please?_ ”

 

By then Oliver’s stupidly serious face had shifted back into that amazing smile of his, which got even wider as he said, “Please, allow me.”

 

She knew what he was going to do even before he started moving again, but she still couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled out as he flipped them around yet again, enjoying the slightly floaty feeling of being flipped around so easily.

 

And enjoying how amazingly easy it was to trust him enough to not only try all of this, but to feel all of these feelings without even trying to. Fun feelings—happy and trusting, like—she’d long thought would stay beyond her reach forever.

 

But somehow this amazing man had managed to mend most of those scars that’d been left on her broken, burnt out heart. Without even trying to, for the most part. With almost the exact opposite of trying to, in fact.

 

So now she could just lay there, back on her back with his beautifully buff body leaning over her. Happy. She had to giggle a few more times while she grinned up at him and he grinned right back.

 

Then, in an absurdly smooth move, Oliver slipped her silk panties off. She had to shift her hips a little to let it happen, but it wasn’t something she even had to think about before that last bit of clothing was finally tossed aside, too.

 

Both of them were still smiling as they kissed again: tongues tangling and tasting, hands caressing and exploring all the while.

 

But then Oliver was pulling away _again_.

 

 _Gods dammit._ If he asked her if she was sure _again_ …

 

“Be right back,” Oliver told her as he actually moved off of her to get out of the bed.

 

Okay, that was such a surprise the scowl that was ready to come out couldn’t quite form.

 

“Where are you going?” Felicity asked him in bewilderment before he could move, because not a single cell in her body wanted to watch him walk away from her.

 

“We need a condom,” Oliver reminded her gently, pausing to brush some her bangs back behind her ear. “I forgot to grab ‘em out of my coat. Do you have some in here?”

 

“Oh, uh, no,” Felicity answered awkwardly, because what else could she say but the truth?

 

“I’ll be right back,” Oliver told her again, and this time she made herself just watch him go.

 

Why would she have condoms, after all?

 

Immortals didn’t catch diseases—not most of them anyway—nothing could survive the Quickening. Even plagues that’d wiped out whole civilizations had left the Pre-Immortal in them unscathed unless something stronger than mortal illnesses was involved.

 

And they couldn’t have children either. So just having sex was never something she’d had to worry about in that way. Quite the opposite, in fact, though she’d been far luckier than some.

 

That Oliver was responsible about this, however, was not surprising. He’d undoubtedly been well schooled in sex-ed. His father’s fortune would’ve necessitated that. Some women might see billions of dollar signs if he’d ever even forgotten a condom. Though the advances in D.N.A testing over the last few decades meant even most gold-diggers would know they’d only get away with the genuine article…

 

Felicity almost stopped him again, almost called him back. A very large part of her did not want to stop, even if this was only just a very inconvenient pause.

 

But this _wasn’t_ just a strange convenience for her—it was an old wound, too. A very old wound.

 

In her first lifetime, before she’d known anything of Immortality other than the stories the priests and priestesses told about the gods, Felicitas had been the young reigning queen of a very young dynasty. And as a sovereign she’d failed her people very rarely—only twice, really.

 

The second time resulted in her First Death, which was almost a punishment enough for all the poor souls who hadn’t come back from the dead with her when their city was sacked because the army was away.

 

Her first failure, though, was her utter inability to produce an heir. Bearing and birthing children was something many women—most, even—managed over the years, but some were not so fortunate. And all Immortal women were barren, just like the Pre-Immortal men were sterile, even before their First Death. Felicitas and Eligius had tried, constantly, for years before they’d had to face the truth. That a child of their own blood was _not_ going to happen.

 

She had loved the three children they’d adopted, of course. Taking her nephews and niece into her heart as her own children had been even easier than making Carthage accept them as her heirs had been.

 

Her husband had never held it against her. Even after Methos has told them that no Immortals could have children, before or after their Immortality triggered—thereby confirming her long held suspicion that their failure was her fault. Still, her champion hadn’t blamed her, and he hadn’t let her blame herself, either.

 

But that _failure_ had still hurt.

 

Knowing that there was nothing she could’ve done about it hadn’t helped—not when she’d first learned it, or in the millennia thereafter. The sad statement of fact was and always would be a painful one to revisit.

 

No Immortals had children, even before their First Death. Ever. They had eternity, so procreation was beyond them. No matter how much they wanted it.

 

And she had wanted it. She’d wanted children with Eligius, and more than a few wonderful men after him. With every man she’d ever loved.

 

Like Oliver.

 

The thought of a baby born from their love was as wonderful as it was impossible. And that still hurt. It always would.

 

“Hey,” Oliver was suddenly back with her again, catching her by surprising as he cupped her face gently with one palm. “You okay? What’s wrong?”

 

“N-Nothing,” Felicity immediately shook her head, trying to shake off the painful memories, the painful reality, and focus on the good again. “Did you get the—”

 

“Yeah, I’ve got it,” he interrupted, still frowning at her in clear concern. As dense and driven as he could sometimes be, the man could also be absurdly observant. “Hey, if you don’t want—”

 

Felicity cut him off this time, “Don’t you _dare_ ask me if I want to stop again,” she told him firmly, her earlier aggravation at just how hesitant he was being about this coming to the fore again. Making her tell him seriously, “I _want_ to make love with you, Oliver. I don’t know how to say that anymore clearly.”

 

Oliver blinked at her, before he nodded. “Okay.”

 

Felicity stared back at him straight on, determinedly focusing on only him, because everything else didn’t matter right now.

 

Then he was kissing her again.

 

Felicity moaned into his mouth, her back arching as his arms slid between her and the bed to wrap around her. His knee nudging gently—barely brushing hers—had her legs falling open so he could kneel between them. She wrapped her own arms around his broad shoulders again, one hand going up to grip the back of his head.

 

Oliver easily held her to him with one arm while his other hand continued caressing. Returning first to her breast for a few moments, gently massaging, before he stroked ever so gently down her stomach, and finally even lower till he was cupping her. “You’re so _wet_ …”

 

Felicity’s hum of agreement turned into a gasp as he slid a finger through her dripping folds, then that finger circled her entrance and she moaned again as he finally pushed it into her. He withdrew it a little far too soon, and her hips followed his hand automatically, but then he was just as carefully pressing back in, with two fingers now.

 

“ _So_ wet…” he groaned approvingly again, while moving his fingers in and out to draw more moans and gasps from her.

 

Felicity saw stars behind her eyelids when his fingers curled to find just the right spot, and the sound that escaped from her mouth into his was more of a shout then a gasp or groan. She felt him grinning into their kiss again, but couldn’t concentrate on that as his hand kept moving, each move sending surges of ever-increasing pleasure through her again and again and again.

 

“That’s it,” Oliver murmured against her mouth encouragingly, pulling his lips just far enough away to say the words.

 

With her mouth not caught up in their kissing, the shout that escaped her as he dragged his fingers across her sweet spot again echoed around the room.

 

“That’s it, Felicity…” Oliver kept encouraging her, the words almost too soft to be heard over her own half-shouted gasps even as she felt them on her lips. “That’s beautiful… You’re _so_ _beautiful_ …”

 

Felicity tried to make herself slow down, because she certainly wasn’t going to tell him to slow down or stop. She wanted them to come together, but this man definitely knew what to do with his hands and everything else.

 

It didn’t surprise her that Oliver brought the same intensity and focus he had with everything that really mattered to bed play, too. But it really was irritating that competitive part of her that _didn’t_ want to just lay back and see stars.

 

That explosion of feeling couldn’t be stopped though: the warm wave turning every nerve in her body into a bunch of fireworks for several amazing seconds that felt like forever for just an instant…

 

Before her head fell back into her pillow with a breathless gasp.

 

Oliver barely let her rest that long though, his mouth merging with hers again. He was smiling into their kisses again, and it was probably a smug smile, but he had every right to that smugness.

 

And before Felicity could really start to feel irritated—it was taking a while after _that_ —he was already moving again.

 

He’d put the condom on at some point—how had she not noticed that?—but it did nothing to disguise how hot and hard he was as he started pressing into her like she really, really wanted.

 

Felicity shifted her hips, opening as wide as she could, and going with it as he gently maneuvers her legs and she shifted her hips to find just the right angle before he finally slid home.

 

Oliver made a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a sigh while she moaned again. “God, you’re _tight_ ,” he told her breathlessly.

 

“Been a-a while,” she admitted with another gasp as he shifted slightly again.

 

Then his lips caught hers once again, their mouths merging a few more times as he held himself still inside her: giving her time to adjust that she appreciated, but didn’t particularly need—despite his impressive size. With how overly considerate he was determined to be, though, this could take all night—and she was the farthest thing from lying when she’d said it’d been a while for her. A _long_ while since she’d actually wanted it this much, if she’d _ever_ wanted it this much…

 

So after a few more slow breaths Felicity drew in one even slower, deep one, shoring up the air supply. Then, without a word or any other sort of warning, she started to move. The first flex of her hips won her a groan from Oliver that was deep and guttural, making her smile.

 

They kept kissing, but it was them breathing together just as much as it was about their lips, tongues and occasionally teeth becoming better and better acquainted. They’d made out a number of times before, it was familiar territory, but they each still had plenty to learn about each other, too. Each breath, each sigh and taste, was another lesson learned, even if the level they were learning it at was all instinct. Especially since it was all instinct.

 

“There,” Felicity gasped as soon as he found that one specific spot she knew he’d been looking for again. “Ri-Right there.”

 

Oliver likely didn’t need the clarification. He had to have felt the way she’d become like a vice all around him as she’d shaken with the sudden surge of nerves. And the man definitely had impossibly good aim, because he hit spot on again and again thereafter.

 

“Faster,” Felicity urged him, even as she tried to pull him in deeper and not let him go. “Faster!”

 

Oliver obeyed, grunting with the effort, but he didn’t disappoint. And when her gaze sought his out again she wasn’t surprised his beautiful eyes already zeroed in on her face, looking like he was memorizing every expression she made. “Almost there,” he warned her after an uncounted handful of thrusts later—each one somehow even harder and faster than the last. “I’m almost…”

 

“Ye-Yeah, me too,” she replied with barely enough breath for the words. “Me too.”

 

In answer, Oliver moved around again, his aim and strength staying true the whole time even as he held her to him with one arm so his other hand could find the way between them, teasing her clit in time with his strokes.

 

“ _Fel-liss-ity… Felicity… **Felicity!**_ ” Oliver chanted her name like it was a prayer until finally groaning it against her neck at almost the exact same time as she really did see stars.

 

“ ** _Oliver!_** ” she shouted his name as she clamped down around him and came undone.

 

For that long moment they were both blind and paralyzed by pleasure… then they collapsed, melting against each other like two halves of the same whole.

 

Felicity was content to stay like that, just feeling as she clung to him and he held her close.

 

Oliver pressed his lips to her brow a few times, still breathing harder than normal as he repeated the move. Once, twice, three—four times, before he just rested against her, his lips still pressed into her brow.

 

Felicity wished they could stay like this forever—stuck in this perfect moment where they were the only ones who matter and nothing could ruin that—but that wasn’t the way the world worked. That didn’t mean she had to be the one to pull away though, so she just stayed suffused in the afterglow for as long as she could cling to it.

 

Eventually Oliver seemed to come back to himself, in no more of a hurry than she was now. He withdrew slowly, each movement as controlled and full of care as ever even now. Laying her gently down, he shifted off of her and got up as he said, “I’ll be right back.”

 

This time as Felicity watched him walk away it was only with general appreciation for the view, but then she still had some shooting stars firing around inside her head.

 

Oliver was back and climbing into bed with her again just as quickly as he’d promised, handing her a damp cloth that she made quick use of before tossing it back towards her bathroom. Then she could only release a sigh of contentment as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back against his amazing torso. Each of them shifted for a moment till they found the right fit, but it didn’t take them long at all.

 

“So, _that_ happened,” Felicity observed softly, not opening her eyes. She was still watching some of the stars firing around in there, but she had to smile as she felt his press another kiss into her hair.

 

“I’m glad it did,” he murmured just as softly.

 

“Me, too.”

 

Their lives might be a whole web of lies at the moment, but their webs were weaving together as well as they were.

 

Felicity cuddled close, resting her head on Oliver’s chest and listening to his strong, steady heart while he wrapped his arms around her. And as she dozed off with his heartbeat in her ear, Felicity found for the first time in far too long that the hope swelling in her own heart didn’t scare her anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Whoo. Okay. I made it to the end of this one.  
> And, if you’re reading this, you did, too. Hope you enjoyed it.  
> Now, onto the next one, as promised!


	6. Smiles & Sunshine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, a more mild warning for this one: I have only proofread it completely once, and I go through at least five more times before I publish it here. BUT I have to go to another family reunion thing now, & I don’t want to leave anyone who doesn’t want to read the previous chapter with NOTHING to read, so: please point out any egregious errors you see, constructive criticism is always appreciated, and enjoy!

_ Oliver Queen’s P.O.V. _

 

Oliver was really trying to sort it all out in his head, but it was hard.

 

Emotions were something he was never great at to begin with. Before _The Queen’s Gambit_ , Lian Yu and everything after it, his problem had been in figuring them out. The last five years, however, had taught him the problem of trust, too.

 

Trust was power in its purest form.

 

And trusting somebody else gave them that power over you.

 

But he did trust Felicity. He had since the moment he met her. It was beyond strange and made no sense whatsoever when he thought about it, but he still knew it was true. Knew it, and even accepted it, which was even stranger…

 

If there was one thing that the last five years of his life had taught him, it was that trusting someone—even a little bit—gave them the chance to betray you. And the more you trusted them, the worse that betrayal could be: trusting more only meant you could be hurt more.

 

At some point Oliver had stopped seeing people as people. He’d _like_ to blame ARGUS and Amanda Waller but even he couldn’t say for certain when it’s actually happened specifically. But he’d started seeing just threats and targets. Or threats and more threats. Sure, some people might not qualify as either one to him specifically but most non-threats could still be classified as _someone’s_ target. It was why he had such a hard time accepting the idea that there was anything heroic about what he’d been trying to do since he came home.

 

That wasn’t a part of him that he could turn off…

 

Except around Felicity.

 

Ever since he’d walked into her office and found her completely lost in her work, chewing on a red pen and so easy to read he didn’t know what to do with all the information he was getting at first. She was pretty, but also really adorable somehow. And she was the same girl who’d almost caught him sneaking into the C.E.O’s office years ago for ARGUS, who’d told his picture he was cute and it was too bad he was dead—before telling herself off for talking to herself as she walked out. She’d made him smile that night, for the first time in who knew how long, and so he had to smile when he saw her again even as how he’d come to find her then meant she was a tech expert who worked too many hours, not a secretary or assistant like he’d once thought. That those wide blue eyes recognized him couldn’t be clearer, even before she’d pulled the pen out of her mouth and started babbling again that day.

 

The smile had been automatic around her, just like it was before. Just like it was every day. Like all the alarms going quiet around her always was, too.

 

Except _he_ wasn’t turning it off around her, it just wasn’t there. And some of the time she could make him feel like that missing instinct wasn’t there anymore. Only around her, though.

 

Somehow Felicity didn’t fit either mold. Threat or target. She didn’t fit any mold. She was just… too remarkable for that.

 

There was just something about her.

 

Something more than the simple fact that Oliver had trusted her from the moment he’d walked into her office at Q.C and found her chewing on that red pen. The open surprise in her big blue eyes wasn’t it either, anymore than the fact that she was beautiful with or without the glasses she didn’t need.

 

She was so honest. Sometimes much more than she liked, especially in her inability to hide the fact that she was attracted to him, but Oliver found it reassuring that he knew what she was saying was real. It might not be everything, he had no right to expect that from her yet—and maybe he never would—but what she told him he knew he could trust was true. And maybe if he told her more she’d return the favor…

 

“Well, at least you’re not doing the hand thingy,” Felicity’s soft voice drew his eyes back to her, and he wasn’t surprised to find those big blue eyes of hers were now open and watching him curiously.

 

“What hand thing?” Oliver blinked at her.

 

“That thing with your thumb, mostly, where it looks like you’re looking for your bow? Or an arrow, or maybe both?” she held her hand up and demonstrated it for just a second, before she let her hand fall back down and started invisible doodles on his chest. “So are you thinking happy thoughts now?” she asked, and one eyebrow arched before he could even try to answer. “Or did last night not measure up?”

 

He blinked again. “What?”

 

“Well, if you’re trying to think of an escape already, you should know that I’m not going to stop you. Or make things weird between us because—”

 

“I’m not running away,” he cut her off, and then frowned. “Why would you think I’d want to?”

 

Felicity just looked back at him for a moment, then she smiled softly. “Because last night was amazing for me—I mean, beyond amazing, really, it was. For me. But if it wasn’t for you, then—”

 

Oliver stopped her mouth with his own to stop her there, and for several breathless moments all he could think about was the feeling of his lips molding with hers. How well and how easily they fit together—and how good it felt—after only a couple weeks worth of practice sessions so far. He had to take a long slow breath when they finally broke apart, and the feel of her breathing in the exact same air almost had him kissing her again, but he made himself move back enough to meet her eyes again instead, though with pupils blown wide like that he almost had to go back to kissing again instead. “It was amazing for me, too,” he told her, smiling softly. “Beyond amazing. It was remarkable. Like you.”

 

“Oh, that’s good.” Felicity smiled as she drew in a slow, slightly shaky breath, then nodded. “I’m glad.” She shook her head, laughing lightly. “So… that happened.”

 

“I’m glad it did, too,” Oliver told her honestly, because he was. That they’d each said about the same thing last night didn’t matter. The warm weight of the afterglow was gone now that they’d made it to the morning after, and repeating that simple truth seemed entirely too important to leave it unsaid.

 

Felicity smiled softly, then she asked him curiously, “So are you going to tell Thea that she doesn’t need to worry about me being sworn to pre-marital abstinence?”

 

“What?” Oliver blinked at her yet again. “No, I wouldn’t…” he trailed off, his frown returning. “Wait, you’ve been talking to my sister about our sex life?”

 

“No.” Felicity answered right away. “There wasn’t one to talk about yet. Not that I’ll talk to her about it now, either, but…”

 

“Why would you—”

 

“She brought it up. Kind of,” the blonde shrugged. “She was worried, I think, so she asked. Then she ran away. It was cute.”

 

Oliver shook his head, able to picture that all too clearly. But also not sure if he wanted to ask about it either…

 

On one hand, his sister and sex in the same frame of thought was _not_ something he liked to think about. At all. That it was her sweet concern rearing its nosy head into _his_ sex life rather than her own should-be-none-existent-one didn’t make much of a difference. Not since he’d found her trying to hook up with some kid from her school a few months ago…

 

Oliver immediately shook that thought off, and the sound of the woman he was in bed with chuckling softly forced his mind back to her instead.

 

“She’s not a little girl anymore, Oliver,” Felicity reminded him gently.

 

“I know that,” he told her.

 

“Humph, I doubt that,” she responded disbelievingly.

 

“I do,” Oliver protested again, but she was smiling so gently at him that it was really hard to frown so he was wearing more of a pout.

 

Felicity chuckled, “She’ll always be your baby sister, you know.”

 

He nodded slowly, wanting to believe that. “I know.”

 

“Speaking as a baby sister, though, big brother’s over protectiveness can get annoying.” She lazily raised her hand to gently pat him a few times on the back. “You’ll learn that, when you meet my brothers.”

 

Oliver had to blink again at that. “Brothers?” he repeated, only letting himself frown a little. “Plural? I thought you only had one older brother?”

 

Felicity didn’t quite freeze, but her fingers definitely skipped a little before they kept gently etching a line along his shoulders now. “Adam, yes. But I meant the rest of my family. Not that I’ll let them all inflict themselves on you at once. I’m both too smart and too nice for that.”

 

Oliver considered her words for a long moment before he replied with, “Thank you?”

 

“You’re welcome,” she replied evenly, ignoring the questioning note he’d end his response with.

 

But, morning after now or not, Oliver still felt far too good to hold anything against her, so he let it go for now. It was almost easy. “So, Adam’s the one I’m meeting soon, right?”

 

“Um-hum,” Felicity sighed her acknowledgment. “I’m sorry, by the way. In advance.”

 

Making Oliver laugh shortly, “As a big brother myself, I’ll understand where he’s coming from,” he reassured her, and then added, “But he can’t be that bad.”

 

“Sure,” Felicity snorted, rolling her eyes. “You say that now.”

 

“I’m pretty hard to scare,” the vigilante shook his head. “Promise.”

 

“Try to keep telling yourself that,” she responded, almost off-handedly.

 

Oliver rolled his eyes again, but then he tilted his head as tried to figure out what she’d been distracted by. It took him a few seconds to decide she was studying one of the few scars she knew the story behind. The one his mom had managed to give him, which had led to this wonderful woman finding him bleeding out in the back seat of her car and deciding to both save his life and keep his secret, too. “Its fine,” he told her gently. “Just a scar now.”

 

“I know,” was her soft response, but she seemed to take that as permission to touch it specifically, her soft fingertips tentatively exploring the patch of skin that, though healed, would always be rough because of the wound that’d once been there. “Does it hurt anymore?”

 

“No,” Oliver answered honestly, her tender touch making him relax, and making it all too easy to talk. “Not that one. Not most of the time.” He hadn’t meant to add that last part, but her understanding nod made him a little glad he had.

 

“And this?” Felicity asked, her fingers moving to slide smoothly around the general shape of the ink given to him by Anatoly to mark him as part of the Bratva. “I’ve never had a tattoo.”

 

“Stings when you’re getting it, some more than others,” he told her, hesitating only a moment before he decided on the one that would always be a lot easier to talk about. It was the one she was studying right now, and the one she might need to know more about anyway. “It means I’m a captain in the Bratva.”

 

Felicity nodded again, and he almost clarified what that meant, but she spoke again before he could. “The Russian mob.”

 

“…Yeah. How’d you—”

 

“If it’s online, I can find it,” she reminded him lightly, her tone almost teasing. “I don’t even need to use Google or Wikipedia, unless I’m feeling particularly lazy.”

 

“What’s Wikipedia?” Oliver asked her, just to see what she’d say. It earned him a quick look, followed by another eye roll.

 

“Nice try, but no matter how bad you are on pop culture, I know you’ve done research of your own online before, for your List if nothing else, so you must’ve come across a Wiki or two.”

 

Oliver gave her a little grin as he shrugged, neither confirming nor denying it because he didn’t have to. He tensed a little, his grin twitching, as her hand found it’d way lower, tracing delicately down his abs till her fingertips found the marks left by teeth on his abdomen.

 

“What was this from?”

 

“Some type of shark,” Oliver replied readily, continuing before she could ask anything else. “Don’t think it was a great white, wasn’t that big. But I didn’t really see it: just punched the thing that bit me—almost managed to punch it before it got its teeth into me, so it only got me on the front side, wasn’t fast enough to stop that. It backed off then, and I swam like hell,” he paused to consider it, then decided, “Don’t think I ever even saw it, really. Thing was fast; seemed to come outta nowhere. But I was pretty closed to shore when it got me, so I got outta the water…”

 

“That was wise,” Felicity sighed, the soft tips of her fingers dancing delicately around the fearsome looking scar.

 

“Yeah, well, I watched _Jaws_ as a kid,” he told her, smiling slightly as she chuckled but otherwise just kept on tracing.

 

It was an oddly pleasant feeling. Strange since he _was_ pretty ticklish in that general area, though not around that spot specifically since he’d gotten that wound and it’d healed.

 

There was a vaguely familiar feel to it—not just her touch—but the way his skin was reacting right now. There was nothing especially sexual about it—other than the fact that there was a gorgeous woman doing it while she was lying next to him naked.

 

Somehow it was just nice though. Warm and comfortable. Revitalizing, almost like he could feel himself healing under her touch.

 

But maybe he was the one being weird right now.

 

“What about the burns?” Felicity asked him, her voice more careful now while she traced the edge of the scars that wrapped up around his side from where they’d scorched a lot of the skin on his lower back.

 

Oliver did stiffen at that, his memories of being tortured by pirates on the _Amazo_ ones he liked to remember even less than his encounter with a predator of the deep. Because at least that shark wasn’t his friend anymore than those pirates were: Slade driven insane by the Mirakuru, ordering him tortured and tattooed for Shado’s death would always be one of his worst memories…

 

“You don’t have to tell me if you really don’t want to,” Felicity sighed when he was silent a moment longer. She was still gently tracing the edges of the mentioned burns though. “I don’t like fire myself. Haven’t for a very long time.”

 

Oliver’s frown deepened as he tried to study her expression, but she still seemed to be consumed by her task of tracing all the marks that were littered across his skin.

 

“I don’t have scars like you do, not the physical ones anyway,” Felicity went on softly. “But fire and heights are still my major fears. Phobias, almost. But they’re not just debilitating, just unpleasant. Though I can’t say I’m too fond of bomb collars nowadays either.”

 

Oliver didn’t even try to stop himself from wincing at the reminder of that. The sight of her hurrying towards him, her big blue eyes full of pure panic that was all too easily understandable with what’d been around her neck—that wasn’t something he’d ever be able to remember fondly. No matter how hot she’d looked in the little gold dress she’d thrown on for the night.

 

“No, can’t say I like bomb collars either,” he agreed, almost managing to not growl until the last few words there. He hesitated a moment after that, just watching her still studying his abs while her fingers weren’t quite tickling him as they played along the edges of his burn scars. “Are you afraid of fire ‘cause of how your mom died? Your birth mom, I mean?”

 

Felicity’s fingers stopped tracing as she closed her eyes for a moment in visibly remembered pain, he tightened his arm around her automatically. “Not exactly. I mean, that’s kind of part of it, but…” she sighed, shaking her head. “Well, my last real relationship ended pretty badly. There was fire involved, so—you know. Bad memories and all.”

 

Oliver’s brow only furrowed more at that. “No, wait. What’d you mean ‘there was fire involved’?” he asked her worriedly.

 

Felicity finally looked up from her study of his scars at that, meeting his eyes again. Hers were a lot sadder than he was inclined to stomach. “How did you get burned?”

 

He blinked at her, but after a moment forced himself to respond, “I was tortured. More than once, over the last five years.”

 

It was easier to say than he’d expected it to be. Maybe because a part of him knew that was the only way he’d get some answers out of her. Even though he surely wouldn’t like those answers.

 

Felicity nodded, then she looked away, her sad eyes going distant as she told him, “We were getting married. But I’d kept a secret that I—well, I thought he should know the truth before we said our vows.” She swallowed, then said. “He didn’t take it well.”

 

Oliver stared at her, something hard solidifying in his gut at the idea. Not at the thought of her having secrets, he knew she did. Just like he did, just like everyone did, to some extent. But the thought of anyone trying to hurt her made him want to throw the hood on and find whoever this bastard was, whether his name was on The List or not. “What did he do?” he pressed, almost managing to make himself not growl it.

 

“He called me a witch,” Felicity answered, almost too softly for him to hear even right next to her.

 

She sounded even sadder now, and smaller somehow. He hated it.

 

“And witches were supposed to burn.”

 

Oliver stared at her in horror for a second, hoping he’d heard her wrong, but knowing he hadn’t. Still, he had to ask her, “What?”

 

“He called me a witch,” Felicity said again, and her sigh was small and sad, too. “There were places where they used to burn you if you were accused of witchcraft, you know.”

 

“Yeah, hundreds of years ago,” Oliver protested. “Why would he…” he trailed off when she winced, realizing he was asking the wrong thing. He was absolutely sure he didn’t want the answer that he knew was coming, but he had to ask for it anyway. “What did he do?”

 

“Tied me up, lit the pyre…” she shrugged. “I’m lucky though. At least my brother was there by then. He and some of my friends saved me.”

 

The vigilante relaxed a little at that, but only a little. “Who is he?”

 

“You’ll meet my brother soon enough, Oliver. And I know you already have a dossier on him.”

 

“No. Your—the bastard who did that to you. Who is he?”

 

Felicity shook her head again, “He doesn’t matter anymore.”

 

Oliver tried to accept that, but there was really only one way he could see that being true. “He’s in jail?”

 

“No.”

 

The vigilante couldn’t stop himself from scowling at that, despising this man he’d never met and not able to understand how she could be talking about her ex having tried to kill her so calmly. “Then who the hell is—”

 

“He’s dead.” Felicity cut in flatly, her face twisting from that bone deep sadness to pain for a long moment before she closed her eyes and visibility made herself calm.

 

That made him stop for a second, turning over the thought. “Oh, uh, okay.”

 

He had to accept that. No matter how much he wanted to kill the other man for trying to hurt her, he couldn’t kill someone who was already dead. More than that, though, he hated seeing how hard it was for her to hold that calm expression as she thought about the bastard.

 

So, after several long, strained seconds of silence, he asked her instead, “Why don’t you like heights?”

 

Felicity frowned, opening her eyes to consider him for a moment, then she nodded, smiling slightly as she answered him, “Oh, that’s my brother’s fault entirely,” she rolled her eyes. “I used to just dislike them, but a long time ago he had this bright idea that I should be made to face my fears. So that I could get over them.” She shook her head. “The end result was me actually afraid of heights, and not willing to be anywhere near cliffs, windows or balconies if my brother is nearby.”

 

“Why?” Oliver wondered hesitantly, his brow furrowed in concern. “What would he do?”

 

“Push me—sometimes, I mean. If you have any balcony’s near your pool at the mansion I won’t be willing to go anywhere near them around him.” Felicity shrugged. “Not that he’s pushed me in ages, but it’s a habit that I can’t really shake.”

 

Oliver nodded slowly, even though he didn’t really understand. Much as he used to enjoy teasing Thea—and at times he, and Tommy too, could be merciless—he’d never wanted to do anything that’d hurt her. Or scare her. Well, other than the occasional Halloween prank. But that wasn’t what this sounded like. “Why did he—”

 

“It was an object lesson,” Felicity interrupted, and then shrugged, “Just not a very good one, long term.” She finished with a sigh, before shaking her head and pushing herself up.

 

Oliver almost tried to stop her, not even remotely ready to get out of this bed. Even though that happy haze had to fade in the face of their semi-shared unhappy memories, he still felt better for sharing his a little. He hoped she could say the same.

 

But she wasn’t getting up. Instead she was reaching towards her bedside table, opening the drawer to take a bottle out of it.

 

Oliver blinked at it as he watched her pull a tiny cork out of the top and then tilt some of the semi-thick liquid into her palm. “What’s that?”

 

“Argon oil, mostly,” Felicity replied. “There’s some lavender and jasmine in here, too, but it’s mostly argon. Real good for irritated skin—and I doubt you ever paid much attention to these once they healed, huh?”

 

“No,” he admitted, blinking at her, but just watching as she started to run her hands over his torso again, this time coated in the silky substance with a vaguely familiar pleasant scent. It was semi-sweet—in the floral sense, not sugary. But he didn’t doubt that it was the specific flower he knew she favored that made it smell familiar, and he was sure it was why he was comfortable with it. He already associated the smell of jasmines with her…

 

There was something hypnotic about watching her fine fingers shimmer in the early morning light as she spread that same shimmer over his chest. Not seeming to target the scars specifically, she was definitely trying to get it all over him, though each scar was apparently going to get its own gentle, deliberate dose.

 

“Which ones do hurt?” Felicity asked him, her voice just as soft and gentle as her touch. So much so it took a long moment for the question in the words—and the fact that he was supposed to answer it—to register.

 

Oliver blinked once, then shook his head, “They don’t.”

 

“Liar,” she shot back straight away, then asked him again, “Which ones?”

 

The vigilante hesitated a long moment, then sighed. “The scars usually don’t hurt that much. It’s the bone’s I’ve fractured that don’t like the cold sometimes.” He admitted, and then shrugged. “But really, I barely notice it most of them time. I’m used to it.”

 

“You shouldn’t be,” Felicity replied with a frown. “No one should have to get used to pain.”

 

Oliver couldn’t disagree with that, but that didn’t change everything. “Everyone does. They have to.”

 

“Doesn’t make it right.”

 

“No,” he agreed easily, trying not to tense as she started to rub her magic oil over his abs. He couldn’t quite manage it, but the unspoken reminder that he was just a bit ticklish there only made the corners of her lips twitch up a little as she smoothly move on to focusing on the shark bite again, pointedly smothering each indentation before going on to the next. Then she stroked straight across his belly, and he couldn’t stop himself from shuddering slightly at the sensation.

 

“Wow, you really are ticklish around here,” Felicity chuckled. “I never would’ve guessed.”

 

“Surprised Thea didn’t tell you that, too,” Oliver shook his head. “Since she was so chatty—when, exactly?”

 

“When _Verdant_ opened,” she replied evenly. “That’s really the only time we’ve had to chat.”

 

And he had to sigh, “Don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll ambush you at work soon enough. Surprised she hasn’t already.”

 

“Well, she does have school and her work at C.N.R.I,” his girlfriend pointed out calmly. “She is trying to be better. And she has—”

 

“Yeah, yeah, she’s doing a lot better,” Oliver cut in, pretty sure of what she was going to say next and not really wanting to know if his sister was still fooling around with the kid from the Christmas party or if she’d move on to some other boy he couldn’t kill.

 

Felicity’s smile grew at that, but she let it go, instead focusing on running her fingers over another mark on his body. “This tattoo’s interesting.”

 

Oliver didn’t have to look to know it was the mark that Constantine had magically transferred to his body. The protection the Brit had decided to give him on whim when he said he had to stay on Lian Yu even after he’d saved the other man’s life. “Yeah.”

 

“It doesn’t look like a tattoo, exactly,” she opined as she traced the Chinese letters. “It looks more like paint someone put under your skin.”

 

Oliver snorted. “That’s kind of what a tattoo is,” he pointed out, even though he knew her observation wasn’t wrong at all. The broad, black letters did look a lot darker and neater than his other two tattoos. But that was because it wasn’t one, not really.

 

Somehow he couldn’t see this as the time to try and explain that magic was real. Especially since it wasn’t like he had any ability to show proof himself. Thinking about it, though, he was pretty sure she’d at least try to believe him. His girlfriend was definitely one of the most open-minded people he’d ever met. She seemed to simply care too much to close her mind.

 

“You know this doesn’t mean anything, right?” Felicity asked him after a moment, making Oliver snort.

 

“Yeah it does.” He corrected her mildly, grinning just a little as he remembered Akio insisting that the tattoo artist had either played a joke on him or was an idiot. Looking back, that memory of silently telling himself to ignore the kid that was so obviously trying to annoy him was a fond one. But that was because it was before everything in Hong Kong went to hell. “It means, Lǎoshǔ, Shēngjiāng, Yao, and Zhū.”

 

“Um-hum,” she hummed her agreement, then said again. “Mouse, Ginger, Distant, and Pig. And together, they don’t mean anything.”

 

“They don’t have to,” he gave her the same reply he’d so irritated Akio with a few years ago, and then he blinked. “Wait. You can read—”

 

“Like I said, you can find just about anything online if you know how to look for it,” Felicity cut in mildly, before she reached for the bottle again and told him. “Okay, roll over.”

 

Oliver silently obeyed, but turned his head on the pillow so he could watch her tip more of the liquid into her palm.

 

“But I am pretty good with languages,” the blonde admitted as she shifted and started stroking the oil onto his back now, starting with the burns he hadn’t wanted to tell her more about. That he didn’t want to think about. “My brother and I, we’re pretty competitive about that. About a lot of things really.”

 

“Really?” he asked her even as he gentle, soft and shimmery strokes started to make him feel a lot like he might be melting.

 

“Um-hum,” she hummed her agreement again. “It’s why I even bothered with getting a doctorate. It’s kind of unusual for my specialty, but—well, like I said; we’ve always been pretty competitive about stuff like that.”

 

Oliver’s brain stalled for a second when she suddenly climbed on top of him, bracing herself right over the area she’d just smothered with oil, a knee on either side as she leaned over him. He debated trying to turn back over for half a second, but then she started outright massaging his upper back and shoulders, and he couldn’t bite back a groan.

 

“Shh… try to relax,” Felicity coaxed quietly. “You need this.” Then, before he could even contemplate if he wanted to argue, she added, “I need this, too.”

 

And all at once any inclination to argue or even move went right out of him, leaving him lying there underneath her, enjoying her clearly experienced touch. He’d had massages before, of course, and a few of the other masseuses had even been naked a time or two, but that was a long time ago. Back when he was still that selfish brat that didn’t care about anybody but himself, with the exception of his family and friends when he cared to remember that he did care about them.

 

It meant a whole lot more with her. Just like everything else—just like _everything_ —meant more with her.

 

After a solid handful of minutes, she sighed, sitting back—still propped up over him—as she went back to rubbing the oil into what was left of the wounds on his skin. “These are from a whip?” she asked him gently stroked some of the long lines Conklin and Reiter had both left there. Come to think of it, some of the burn marks left on his back almost had to be from Reiter, too.

 

“Yeah,” Oliver answered, speaking half into the pillow.

 

“More torture?”

 

He hesitated a moment, then admitted. “More punishment.”

 

Felicity’s hands never stopped their steady strokes over the raised, roughened flesh. “Punishment for what?” she asked him softly, waiting a long moment before she told him, “I can’t hold your past against you, Oliver.” She sighed heavily as she looked away. “Believe me, I have one of my own.”

 

Oliver almost rolled his eyes, because nothing the genius might’ve ever hacked into could compare to some of the stuff he’d seen and done. But something about that sigh and the faraway look in eyes as she finished stopped him. He studied her for a moment, then frowned, “What—”

 

“But we were talking about you now, weren’t we?”

 

Oliver sighed, but made himself surrender at least a little bit. “The burns were a combo of punishment and torture, too,” he admitted reluctantly. “They weren’t all at once…”

 

She hummed softly again, but didn’t make any other sound as she started tracing around the dragon tattoo Slade had him marked with, to remember failing Shado. Betraying her and him, Slade had said, but again it was after the Mirakuru had made him crazy.

 

Oliver sighed again. “There were groups of mercenaries on the island,” he told her. “Different groups, at different times.”

 

“What were they doing there?” she asked the question so lightly it almost took away the weight of what she was asking about.

 

“The first group was looking for someone that China had exiled there.” He told her slowly. “I wouldn’t tell them where he was.”

 

“He was your friend?”

 

“Closest thing I had there, at first,” Oliver admitted. “He saved my life. More than once.” He sighed a he said, “He was a good man.”

 

A good man who didn’t deserve what happened to him, anymore than his daughter did. But the world was never really fair. If it was, he wouldn’t be the one still breathing today.

 

“Losing a friend is always hard to take,” Felicity said softly.

 

“I barely knew him,” Oliver admitted with a sigh.

 

“But he’d helped you. You said he’d saved your life,” she replied just as softly, and he was sure she was shaking her head. “So he was your friend. And then he was gone.” She paused, probably shaking her head again, but it wouldn’t be as obvious down as it was in her ponytail. “That’s hard. It’s always hard.”

 

“Yeah…”

 

“But Oliver,” Felicity paused as her slightly slippery fingers found his chin, not making him try to turn his head from where he had it only half turned into the pillow anyway, but flooding his nostrils with the pleasant scent of her special oil. “That doesn’t mean we’re wrong to go on living.”

 

“I know,” he replied flatly with a frown.

 

Felicity chuckled, though it sounded too tired and just a little too dark to be called that. “They call it survivor’s guilt for a reason, you know.”

 

He didn’t have an answer he could give for that, so he just leaned a little more into the pillow and her hand, savoring the sweet, calming scent.

 

Felicity gently withdrew her hand, and went back to rubbing his shoulders, this time somewhere in between spreading the oil and massaging the muscles she liked watching him work on so much she sometimes even made him like working on them. “It’s perfectly natural.”

 

Oliver only sighed at that, still not able to let himself admit that he felt guilty. He knew he did, but that he did—and especially why—wasn’t something he wanted to talk about in her bedroom as the early morning sunlight stretched in. Not that he ever wanted to talk about any of his past, really, but even he knew that he didn’t have much right to ask what she’d put behind her if he wouldn’t say even a word about what was behind him. And this wonderful woman somehow seemed to have too many dangerous secrets in her past for him to not ask her about them.

 

Sure, her adoptive grandfather’s murder maybe having something to do with why she’d taken up learning how to use a sword better than she’d yet admitted seemed like more than a bit of a leap, but he still couldn’t help but feel like there was a connection there.

 

He also had a better idea now of why she kept apologizing as she warned him about her brother being over-protective, too. He was more than a little protective of his own sister—who would also say he was ridiculously overprotective, he was sure—but no one had ever tried to hurt her. That a man Felicity had planned to marry had actually tried to _burn_ her almost defied belief… but it also made it easy to understand why she was so secretive.

 

He half wondered if the sword stuff and her grandfather’s murder might be the secret she’d shared that her bastard of an ex-fiancé didn’t ‘take very well.’ But he knew it wasn’t the time to ask that. Not yet.

 

And then he remembered what she’d actually, specifically said about the unnamed man’s reaction to finding out her secret. He’d called her a ‘witch.’ So maybe it was time to give Constantine a call. He’d at least know if witches were real, right?

 

The thought made him wonder if she might actually be doing some kind of supernatural—and not just natural—magic right now. If the wonderful, barely-there feeling of warmth that felt vaguely familiar might be her magic as she tried to heal him or something like that. But if it wasn’t, he’d sound crazy. And no matter how open-minded the woman was, he wasn’t going to give her reason to doubt his sanity. So any talk of magic could wait until the only person he knew who definitely _could_ wield it was here to prove it.

 

Oliver groaned as she found a particularly tight spot between his shoulders, her fine fingers digging into his muscles with strength that he probably shouldn’t find surprising, what with both all the typing she did and the skill with swords she hadn’t entirely owned up to yet. Each deep stroke seemed to dig deep into his tissues with the ease he couldn’t help but associate with an expert. All but making him ask her, “So were you a masseuse at some point, too?”

 

Felicity chuckled, and this time it sounded right—full of her normal warmth. “Everyone pays the bills somehow.”

 

He almost frowned at that confirmation, some memories from the Bratva—where he’d learned that all too many women had no choice when they ended up in the sex-trade, which was sometimes concealed in spas and the like. It’d made him about some of the times he’d gotten a massage himself, so he’d been relieved when Anatoly had assured him that there was no sex—or slave—trade in Starling City as far as the Bratva were aware. Not that he’d taken his Russian friend entirely at his word, but he hadn’t found any sign of it being managed by any of the organized crime syndicates here since he’d gotten back. But after her earlier admission about the man she’d almost married—

 

“But no,” Felicity’s calm voice broke into his thoughts like she was reading his mind. “I didn’t do this profession to get through M.I.T, or anything like that. My mom tried working as a massage therapist a few times, but she makes better money as a cocktail waitress so she let that license expire years ago.”

 

“Huh,” Oliver grunted in reply, relaxing again—and then letting out a deep groan as the muscle knot she’d been steadily assailing with deliberate, pointed pressure could finally let loose.

 

“There it goes,” Felicity murmured with satisfaction, and the smile he could hear in her voice had him smiling, too. “This may have to become a thing, I think.”

 

“You think?” he repeated with a chuckle.

 

“Well, yeah. You _know_ I love watching you go up and down that salmon ladder.”

 

“You know, I _had_ noticed,” he agreed, still smiling.

 

She was probably right that some of his regular workouts, while they kept him in shape, did some damage, too. Not like the bullets and knives he occasionally couldn’t avoid, of course. And nothing like the rooftops he was running across on an almost as regular basis. But that tension she’d seemed to force from his shoulders with remarkable ease probably did have something to do with the salmon ladder. Well, the salmon ladder and the bow and arrow he was known for…

 

“Oh shut up,” Felicity shot back in response to the slight smugness he hadn’t even tried to keep out of his voice.

 

“Okay,” Oliver readily agreed, shifting a little as she started stroking back down the center of his back again. He let a little moan out as that pleasant warmth flowed from her purposeful kneading, dancing and tingling down along his spine. Making him shift again, not sure how long he could just keep lying here for this.

 

“I’m not done yet,” Felicity told him, her voice only somewhat stern as both her hands stopped right between his shoulder blades for emphasis.

 

“Pretty sure you’ve covered everything,” Oliver replied without any real drive, though he did remind her, “And I’m gonna have to take a shower soon anyway.”

 

“Not that soon,” she shot back.

 

“And, you know, there’s this thing called breakfast—and the coffee you like so much? We could have that, after our shower, right?”

 

“It is the most important meal of the day.” She hummed, sounding more interested now. “And breakfast is pretty important, too.”

 

Oliver snorted, “It’s a little more important than the coffee, Felicity.”

 

“Humph, blasphemy,” she denied, starting to move off of him.

 

As soon as she’d shifted just enough Oliver immediately rolled, shoving himself up and swinging his arm around to gently catch her and toss her back down on the bed he’d just been laying on before he climbed over her now. “Well, you’re right, it doesn’t have to be that quickly,” he pointed out as she giggled, smiling brightly up at him.

 

For a breath or two, Oliver could only stare at her. She looked so pretty, her smiling shining even brighter than sunlight on her hair.

 

Then she pushed herself up and her lips were on his again—full and soft—a perfect fusion that seemed to feel more and more right every time it happened.

 

Oliver nipped lightly at her lower lip, sucking it into her mouth before letting it go and tying his tongue with hers in the same semi-practiced movement as soon as it touched his upper lip.

 

Perfect.

 

For as long as it could last.

* * *

 

_The End of_

**_ Double Date or Couples Therapy _ ** **_?_ **

**NEXT STORY: A Hero?**

Because it’s much more than a word…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, so obviously I could keep going there, but I said the last chapter would be the explicit one, and this one was starting to go that way, too. I’m sure we can all imagine where it’s headed next.  
> And now, at long last, Double Date or Couples Therapy is done! That means we can go on to the next one! :-D  
> And seriously, I have gotten a lot farther ahead on it, so I should be able to update much more regularly. Ideally every Tuesday, depending on how long proofing, etc. takes. At least until I catch up to where my muses are still at war over what comes next…


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